


Walls That Hold Us, Walls That Keep Us

by cotton_prima



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fantasy AU, Non-Explicit Sex, Slow Burn, Violence, does this fic feature a robin-like grima or a grima-like robin?, frederick's a knight and robin's a dragon, not a beauty and the beast au but you could say it's like a beauty and the beast au, who knows!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 54,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cotton_prima/pseuds/cotton_prima
Summary: “You are either the bravest knight to ever live, or the stupidest. Are you trying to amuse me? Insult me?”“I’m trying to kill you,” Frederick said. With shaking hands, he pointed his lance at the dragon. Again it made that hissing sound.“To amuse, then.”---Frederick is a knight tasked with slaying the dragon that has taken Ylisse's castle. He fails.
Relationships: Chiki | Tiki/Say'ri, Frederick/Gimurei | Grima, Frederick/My Unit | Reflet | Robin, a light sprinkling of Frederick/Chrom
Comments: 124
Kudos: 196





	1. A Castle, a Dragon, a Knight

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic idea rattling around in my head for some time now. No promises as to consistent updates, but if I'm going to be stuck inside, I might as well write about characters also stuck.

The ruined castle was in better shape than he’d expected.

Frederick had always imagined hallways littered with the bones of fallen soldiers and grand staircases stained dark with blood. Instead, the castle was filthy in an unremarkable way—nothing a good wash and some basic refurbishment couldn’t fix.

Of course, all the corpses that would have otherwise lined the castle halls had been reanimated and stalked the land as an unholy plague. Fighting through the undead army that stood guard at the gates had nearly killed him. But the castle itself was in fair condition.

Exhausted, Frederick caught himself against a doorframe. He was losing too much blood. Already he was starting to black out. But as hurt as he was, as futile as his quest was, he could not turn back.

He was prepared die here.

A moment’s rest was all he allowed himself. He wiped the blood from his eyes and pushed on, supporting his weight on his lance. If he could not stand on his own, what chance did he have against the dragon that had taken this castle? The beast that had felled Ylisse more than twenty years ago? If he was lucky, perhaps he’d land a single blow. If he was very, very lucky.

Dread and pain slowed him as he approached the throne room. He could hear the dragon’s wet creature breath, the clacking of its scales against stone. When he turned the next corner, he would be face to face with the thing. Frederick took a deep breath, winced, and made his peace.

“You hesitate? After I’ve made ready to receive you?”

The voice was resonant and vast, more rumble than words. Frederick staggered, as if knocked back by a great wind.

“I but paused,” he replied when he had collected himself. His own voice sounded miniscule and frail. “I have every intention to face you.”

“Then let us see your face.”

Frederick stepped forward, heartbeat deafening in his ears.

The dragon had curled itself around the empty thrones, its body a swollen darkness against the room’s tarnished gold. A multitude of eyes stared out of its head, its giant horns raking against the floor when it moved. Black feathers quivered along its arched back, and its folded wings pressed against the walls.

Actually, the dragon was somewhat smaller than Frederick had remembered. But he had been young then, and perhaps myth had muddled his memory. The dragon was by far the largest beast he had seen, but it did fit entirely inside the throne room. It was no flying mountain. It wasn’t even the size of a fortress. Had the kingdom truly fallen to this?

The dragon, too, seemed unimpressed with what it saw.

“You jest,” it growled contemptuously.

“I am a knight, not a jester.”

“You are broken, knight,” it said. “And you’re alone. Yet you’ve come all this way to challenge me.”

It chuckled. Or Frederick thought it did. The sound it made was hissing and derisive.

“You are either the bravest knight to ever live, or the stupidest. Are you trying to amuse me? Insult me?”

“I’m trying to kill you,” Frederick said. With shaking hands, he pointed his lance at the dragon. Again it made that hissing sound.

“To amuse, then.”

The dragon rose. Its huge body seemed impossibly light.

Frederick gathered his remaining strength and charged forward. If he could land just one hit, if he could injure the dragon even a little…

With a toss of its head, the dragon slammed him into a wall. He gasped, his breath damp with blood.

He couldn’t open his eyes.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t fight.

_Prince…Princess,_ he thought as he fell. _Please be safe._

Frederick awoke, to his surprise. He was lying in a soft and unfamiliar bed by a window open to the night air. His armor and clothes had been removed, and his wounds had been bandaged, and from the feel of it, even stitched. The pain was tremendous, but he was alive. Had he been saved, then? By who?

He heard the footsteps of someone with bare feet. A young, white-haired woman holding a large pot entered the room. She wore an oversized coat, and, to Frederick’s shock, nothing else.

“So you are alive,” the woman remarked. She set the pot on the ground next to the bed. Frederick was not sure where to look. It was shameful to stare, but it would also be rude to look away while she was talking to him, especially if she was, as he suspected, his savior.

“Yes, somehow,” he replied. As he spoke, he realized that his throat was horribly dry. He coughed, and fresh pain rattled through his body. The woman reached into the pot, then brought her cupped hands to Frederick’s mouth. Water. It dripped through her fingers and landed coolly on his neck. He drank greedily, despite the slightly muddy taste.

“Thank you,” he said. “I am in your debt.”

The woman stared as if he had told a bad joke. Her attention was unguarded and unsettling. He cleared his throat.

“You did save my life, did you not?”

The woman grinned.

“It’s too early to consider yourself ‘saved,’ knight.”

Frederick tried to sit up, but her hand pinned him to the bed with inhuman strength. His head spun with panic.

“No sudden movements,” the dragon said. “Do you know how long it took to stitch you up?”

“Why?” he gasped.

“Why?” She removed her hand. “I told you, didn’t I? I find you amusing.”

For a moment, the indignity of her words overcame his pain. He had been ready to die. To have his life spared by the whims of his enemy, no, the enemy of Ylisse, was a grave insult.

“You’d keep me alive for such a flippant reason?” he demanded.

“I need no reason,” she said easily. She took his hair in her fingers, seemingly more curious about its texture than anything he had to say. Frederick shuddered. 

“Do not touch me,” he said.

The dragon withdrew her hand. She looked as if the metal pot had talked back to her.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I do not wish it.”

She stared at his face, her brow furrowed with the effort of looking.

“You’re angry?”

“I’m angry,” he said quietly. She frowned.

“That I spared your life? You would have rather I let you die?”

“That would have at least been honorable.”

“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “Death is death, and it is hateful to die.”

“What does a monster know of honor?”

The dragon bristled at that. Despite her human-like form, her rage was suffocating.

“How dare you presume what I know?” she snarled. “I know enough what ‘honor’ means to you knights. It means trying to claim my head as a trophy. It means breaking your bodies between my jaws. It is not so glorious as you think. But if you insist on experiencing it yourself, then perhaps I’ll kill you yet. You destroyed some of my risen on your way here, didn’t you? I could make you their replacement.”

She raised her hand, her fingers stretching into long, dark talons. Frederick braced himself for the moment they would come slashing down on his throat. He waited, but that moment didn’t come.

“But I have enough dolls,” the dragon scoffed. Her talons and anger fell away, and she appeared harmless again. “You’re different from them. You’re stupid.”

“I’ll kill you,” he promised. His body was shaking with hatred and terror. “I swear on my life.”

The dragon blinked at him impassively.

“Then you should live.”

She left him to his grudge. Worse, she left the door open. Frederick stared at the empty air not five paces away. There were no shackles, no guards. There was nothing stopping him from simply walking out. Except he couldn’t walk. He could barely move.

Of course, he would not get far if he could. The dragon had taken his armor and weapons. In his condition, he would not last against even a single risen. Still, that open door was excruciating.

He was powerless.

But he was alive, Frederick reminded himself. And if he was alive, then he had not yet failed his quest. Loathe as he was to admit it, the dragon was right. If he wanted to kill her, he had to live. For that, he would endure any indignity.

She would regret underestimating him.


	2. Waste

He slept. He dreamt fitfully.

_The castle is burning, and he cannot run fast enough._

_A roar of soldiers erupts from a room he is not in. Then another roar, loud as the end of the world. He runs, but the halls twist in on themselves. He cannot find the exit. Perhaps there isn’t one._

_The dragon is chasing him._

_He cannot see it, but he knows it will catch him because he cannot run fast enough. The stairs beneath his feet are tall and sharp. He falls, and they bite into his small hands. A child’s hands. His eyes water. Where have his mother and father gone? Did they escape? Why have they left him?_

_He struggles to his feet, the dragon’s breath on his neck. The jaws close and become hands. He chokes, and a woman laughs._

Frederick woke, pulse racing. Just a nightmare, he thought. His relief soured, however, as he remembered his situation. The room was dark. Had he slept a few hours, or an entire day?

His throat was raw with thirst. With a groaning effort, he reached for the pot of water the dragon had left by his bed. He drank what little he could, stopping only when the pain of reaching became unbearable. He lay back, breathing hard.

Conscious thought returned to him, and Frederick began to wonder at how foolish his nightmare had been. The castle had fallen, yes, but it had not burned extensively. The dragon had not chased him. It had attacked the tower, and he had evacuated with the other pages. And his parents had died long before the dragon had attacked. The dream had been a distortion, and an embarrassing one at that. He had been but a child then, but he was a child no longer.

This time, he would not run.

Morning came, and with it, risen. Three of them marched into the room, their demeanor quieted, almost polite. They reached for him, and Frederick thought he had reached the end of the dragon’s mercy. But he was not killed. Instead he was, to the best of his estimation, tended to? They wiped his sweat with cool, damp cloths. They sat him up and gave him water. They helped him relieve himself. The risen were capable, but it was unnerving to be nursed by the dead.

These had been soldiers, once.

When risen left, the dragon returned.

“I’m going to change your bandages,” she declared, setting an armful of torn cloth at the foot of the bed. She was light of manner today, the haughtiness gone out of her. But not the pride. “I made this!”

She produced a small wooden bowl from the pile of cloth and held it so close to Frederick’s face that he could not get a good look at its contents. But it smelled like a pungent medicine.

Why was she showing him this? Did she desire his approval? He did not respond, and the dragon’s enthusiasm dimmed.

“You’re still angry?” she asked, half disbelieving.

“I am in pain,” Frederick said as evenly as he could.

“I know. That’s why I made this.”

He shut his eyes. There was no way for him to communicate what he felt. Even if he could, he did not need to justify himself to her.

The dragon sighed and began to remove his bandages, dampening them slightly so they would come away easier. She smeared the balm she had mixed over his wounds, and after the initial cold sting, the pain began to numb.

“How does that feel?” the dragon asked.

“Better,” he admitted. In truth, he had never known a balm to work so effectively. It was somewhat vexing. Why should a dragon be skilled at medicine making? Such knowledge was wasted on beasts.

His old bandages discarded, the dragon began to re-dress his wounds. Her technique was methodical, but her hands were clumsy. The compression was a little tight, and she struggled tying the bandages off. Still, he had not expected her to work with such care.

_Do not be a fool_ , he reminded himself. _Perhaps she is gentle when it suits her, but yesterday she broke your ribs. Remember all the soldiers she’s killed. She’s toying with you._

“You haven’t healed at all,” the dragon observed. She ran a finger over the tender seam of a wound. “I’d read that humans heal slowly, but seeing it is something else.”

“You can read?” Frederick asked. The dragon glared at him.

“Yes,” she said tersely. She tied the next bandage more roughly than necessary. “Can you really not heal _any_ faster?”

“No.”

“Then this will take a while.”

“A month, at least.”

“A _month_?!” the dragon exclaimed. “It’s a wonder humans ever choose to fight. Clearly, you’re not made for it. Your skin is soft and tears too easily.”

She certainly had a talent of provoking him, intentionally or not.

“We may not be made for it,” he said. “But I have trained my entire life to grow stronger. I will not have you mock my efforts.”

“That’s what I can’t understand,” said the dragon. “All of that work, and you’re not even as strong as the tip of my tail. Your armor is easily crushed, and your toughest swords break against my fangs. You could have done anything else. If you had, you wouldn’t be so injured now. Why would you _want_ to fight?”

There were many reasons Frederick could have given. To protect the prince and princess from their enemies. To defend himself from people who wished him ill. To escape the impoverished life his parents had lived. But at that moment, only one reason mattered.

“We fight,” he said, “with the hope of killing monsters like you.”

He expected indignation or mirth. Instead, the dragon drew back, her eyes troubled.

“I really don’t understand,” she muttered. She continued to bandage him in silence, and despite himself, Frederick felt a hint of guilt. Logically, he knew he was speaking to a dragon. But this form was a convincing trick.

If she were human, he would think she was hurt.

“You’re done,” the dragon said when she had affixed the last bandage. She gathered the used bandages, stale with blood. “I’ll return to change them again tomorrow. Try to heal a little more by then.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Are you not going to feed me?” Frederick asked. In truth, he was slightly nauseous. But he would need to eat eventually, and he didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to ask.

For a moment the dragon’s stare was blank. Then her eyes lit with realization.

“I’d forgotten,” she admitted. “Humans need to eat…every day?”

“Yes. Multiple times, preferably.”

“Oh.”

She thought quietly on that, her eyes cast down in a way that was almost shy. In fact, he might even say she looked embarrassed.

Why?

“Do you…not eat?” he asked.

“I know what eating is,” the dragon replied quickly. “I…suppose I could. If I wanted to.”

It was an odd answer. Never before had he heard of a beast that didn’t need to eat. But it made sense in its own way. For all the years the dragon had occupied the castle, no one had reported it poaching livestock. In fact, no one had seen the dragon outside the castle grounds at all. How, then, did it survive? Perhaps the dragon was, as some suspected, an old god or demon. Either would be troublesome. The dragon may have spared his life, but what if he died for the simple reason that she didn’t know how to keep mortals alive? He would prefer a quick death to starvation.

“Animals and plants?” the dragon asked.

“What?”

“Humans eat animals and plants, right?”

“Most animals and some plants,” Frederick confirmed. “Although some plants are poisonous to us,” he added, lest she return with a fistful of nightshade.

“Which ones?”

“I…I cannot name them all.”

“Why not?” the dragon demanded, now impatient. “Shouldn’t you know the things that can kill you?”

“I’m no apothecary. Anyway, it’s easier to name edible plants than the non-edible ones. Of course, for many plants, only certain parts are edible, and only after they’re prepared a specific way.”

“Explain it later.” The dragon ran a distracted hand through her hair. “Animals, then. That should be safe, right? I’ll bring you an animal.”

“A dead animal.”

“Obviously.”

“But freshly dead. Not rotten.”

“I know that!” the dragon snapped. “You’re not imminently going to starve, are you? I have at least an hour?”

“Yes,” Frederick said. It seemed the less complicated answer.

“Alright.” The dragon glanced out the window toward the woods surrounding the castle. “I’ll be back before then. Do not die before then.”

She left in a hurry, and it was only after she was out the door that Frederick realized he hadn’t told her to cook the meat. Well, he supposed he could tell her when she returned.

Surprisingly, he didn’t have to. The dragon returned in less than an hour, as she had promised, with an entourage of risen and a tray of meat. The meat was skinned. It had been cooked, or at least been in a fire. There were, however, other problems with it.

“Is that bear?” he asked as one of the risen sat him up.

“Yes,” the dragon said, brandishing the tray proudly. It was a very fine silver tray, and it would have been even finer with a little polish. It was also piled high with what looked like hand-torn slabs of meat. There must have been at least fifteen pounds of it. “Will this be enough? I couldn’t fit it all on one tray, but there’s a lot more if you need it.”

Frederick closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, which was a mistake. For one, it hurt his ribs. Worse was the smell. The fleshy rot of the risen at his side and the sharp odor of slightly burnt meat. His stomach twisted.

“Bear,” he said again.

“Yes?” The dragon frowned. “What, is bear poisonous to humans too?”

“It might as well be. It’s foul stuff.”

“What are you talking about? It’s either poison or it isn’t.”

“You wouldn’t understand because you don’t eat.”

Now the dragon was indignant. She shoved the tray into the awkward hands of a risen, plucked a slab of bear, and bit into it. For her first time, she ate effectively, her teeth making short work of the gamey meat.

“It’s fine,” she concluded, her mouth smeared with grease and blood. She grabbed another slab of meat and thrust it at him.

“I killed this for you,” she said when he flinched. “Eat.”

Reluctantly, he accepted her offering. Relatively speaking, it was a small piece—about the size and thickness of his palm. But it felt heavier than it ought. He nibbled at its charred edges, and although the muscle was quite dead, it seemed to fight him just the same. His jaw ached. The small effort of chewing was enough to make his heart race. He swallowed.

“It’s difficult,” he admitted.

The dragon snatched the meat back from him and crammed nearly all of it in her mouth. She chewed vigorously and without choking, then spit her work into her cupped hand. The wet, pink lump seemed to shudder. She held it to his mouth.

“Eat,” she instructed.

_You must survive this_ , he reminded himself. Suppressing his disgust, Frederick opened his mouth and allowed her to press the chewed meat in, his lips brushing her damp palm. He held his breath and swallowed, focusing only on the muscles contracting in his throat.

She took another piece. Chewed. Fed him. They repeated this obscene ritual until Frederick’s stomach and nerves had had enough.

“I cannot,” he said when the dragon offered him another handful of meat.

“Already?”

He nodded. He felt dizzy.

“But there’s so much left,” the dragon said. The tray was hardly diminished.

“I can only eat so much at once.”

“Should I save the rest?”

“Some,” he said. “But most of it will go bad before I can get to it. Best to eat that yourself or throw it out.”

“It seems a waste.”

It struck him as odd that the dragon should have a concept of waste. Hadn’t she said that she needed no reason to keep him prisoner? What was waste to someone beyond purpose? And yet, there was something almost mournful in the way she looked at the full tray.

“Next time hunt a smaller animal,” he said.

“Next time,” the dragon repeated. “How weary being a human must be. Healing slowly. Having to procure food every day. It’s amazing that you have time to try to kill me. And yet, you always do. Try, at least.”

Something in her face changed. A tightening of the brow or a quirk of the lips. She looked away from him, retreating into feigned indifference.

“When do you need to eat next?” she asked.

“Perhaps five or six hours. Then not again until tomorrow. And I’ll need fresh water.”

She nodded.

“Rest, knight,” she said. “If I must hunt for you, then you are obligated to regain your strength.”

She turned, and the risen shuffled out of the room behind her. Abruptly, he was alone. He would be for hours.

That realization should not have surprised him. It should not have even been a “realization.” However, for a moment, the thought of those empty hours overwhelmed him. Frederick, a man who had always made it a point to fill his days with productive work, who wasn’t satisfied unless he was moving, could do nothing but lie still with his pain.

A month of this awaited him. He would likely be mad by the end of it.

_Patience_ , he told himself, willing his panic down. _This too is your mission._

Yes, he had a mission. Therefore, this pain and these long hours had meaning. Nothing was wasted. To lose heart now was to admit defeat, and to admit defeat was to accept death. And he would not die. He would live, not by the dragon’s will, but by his own.

Frederick closed his eyes. He waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FredRob fanfic, gotta mention bear meat.


	3. Seeming

Time passed. Wearily. The hours schlecking off the day like wet bits of potato skin.

Frederick tried to occupy his mind to keep from dwelling on the pain. For the pain was consuming. The dragon’s medicine was strong, but he hurt constantly. Each ache had depth and demanded his attention. He would not give it.

Unfortunately, there was little else to devote his attention to. The room was bare of distraction. As far as prisons went, his was certainly luxurious. It had likely been a guestroom for noble company. The ceilings were high, and the floor was paneled with wood smooth as cream. A small dining table with two chairs stood atop a richly embroidered carpet. A cold fireplace sat in the north wall. There was a glossy bureau, a dulled mirror, a dressing screen. And though somewhat ruined by sweat and blood, the bed was lined with linen sheets and the mattress was stuffed with feathers. The blanket was spun from thick wool.

Frederick had never occupied such a fine space.

It was utterly hollow.

Confined to his bed, he muttered songs to himself. He recalled lines of poetry. He thought of past conversations with the knights who had mentored him, and he tried to imagine what advice they would give him now. He wondered how the prince and princess were faring without him, but those thoughts saddened him. He looked out the window and tried to identify the trees. He counted the risen milling about in the courtyard. He slept. He woke. The risen came in and out.

Only the dragon’s visits broke the monotony, for better or for worse. Certainly worse. Her moods fluctuated. On some days, she looked at him with hostility and spoke not a word. But on most days, she was eager to see him. He hardly knew how to deal with her then. She had the curiosity of a child or philosopher, and she asked more questions than Frederick cared to answer.

He had thought she would interrogate him about the kingdom, or the whereabouts of the prince and princess. He had been fully prepared to swallow his tongue before she could work anything incriminating out of him. But her interests were benign. Mundane, even. She asked him about carpentry and the kinds of houses he had lived in. She asked if he’d ever seen the sea or been on a mountain. (No to the first, yes to the second.) A volcano? (No.) She asked about cows. Did people really drink cow milk? Why did knights ride horses if bulls were sturdier and had horns? Didn’t that make them better suited for battle?

“Cows are superior to horses,” she decided, even after he had explained that cows were slow and harder than horses to train. Her opinion was incorrect. However, Frederick refused to argue that with her over that.

The dragon was cunning, that he knew. But her knowledge was very specific and very scattered. She knew the ideal conditions for wheat planting down to the salinity of the soil, but she had never seen a stalk of wheat in her life. She knew how to read the weather from clouds. She did not know east from west. She could name Ylisse’s monarchs of the past five-hundred years. It took him nearly half an hour to explain exactly what a “kingdom” was.

Her knowledge of human culture was similarly vague. She knew some things about how people lived—a great deal more than Frederick had expected. However, while she was confident, even boastful in her knowledge, it was far from complete.

Her idea of clothes, for instance.

After a few days of lying naked save for his bandages, Frederick had asked for real clothes. And although the dragon complained about how hard it would be to dress him each time she changed his bandages, she brought him a shirt and trousers. Dressing was painful, but more than worth the trouble.

“You look satisfied,” the dragon observed. “Are they really so comfortable?”

“Yes,” he said. It was an understatement. The clothes were, quite literally, fit for a king. Like everything else in the castle, they were finely made and soft with time. They were comfortable, yes, but they were more than that. Wearing clothes felt profound. It felt like being a person again.

“I understand why humans armor themselves with leather and metal,” the dragon said. She twisted a loose thread on the cuff of her coat. “And I know that humans need to keep warm in the winter. But must you wear clothes always? Even in the summer? I fail to see the point.”

“Is that why you’re always naked?” Frederick asked.

The dragon laughed. The sound was peculiar and warm. “I’m not naked,” she declared. “I’m wearing clothes!”

Frederick thought the dragon had chosen a very bewildering way to taunt him. Dragons were creatures of malice, and behind malice must be intent. She was doing this to him on purpose. Then, with sudden clarity, he realized she was not. Somehow, that made everything more bewildering.

“But you’re…you’re…”

“I’m wearing clothes!” the dragon insisted, raising her arms as if to emphasize her coat. Unfortunately, this caused the fabric to fall in a way that was difficult to ignore. Frederick felt his face go hot.

“But your entire front is exposed! I can see your… everything!”

“What does that have to do with wearing clothes?” she asked. Her arrogance was almost serene.

“It has everything to do with it,” he replied. “Clothes are meant to cover as well as to protect.”

“If that’s the case, then why doesn’t this coat ‘cover’ me? Coats are ‘clothing,’ aren’t they? Is this one broken, or is it not ‘clothing’ by your definition?” She grinned as if she had caught him in a delicious paradox. She hadn’t, however.

“It is clothing. But it’s not meant to be worn alone. You’re supposed to wear other clothes under it.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment was immediate, then disdainful. “How tiresome.”

She made a point to scowl, to turn her nose up. Above all else, she was proud. Still, the next time the dragon returned, she wore a shift under the coat. It was a great relief, and one he knew better than to comment on.

Sometimes the dragon visited just to show him things.

“Look at this.”

She held out a beautifully bound book and opened it to a page covered with intricate colored sketches of mushrooms. The ink, though at least twenty years old, had retained their luster. The parchment, too, was white and smooth as milk. The scribe behind this work had been of peerless talent.

“Now I know which mushrooms humans can eat,” the dragon declared smugly. But Frederick hardly noticed. He was absorbed by the book.

“May I keep this?” he asked before he could stop himself. But the dragon did not mock his request as he’d expected. Instead, she seemed interested.

“You like books?” she asked. Frederick nodded. Actually, he had never been an avid reader. Books were rare, and his duties were not scholarly. But he was interested in anything that might relieve his boredom for a few hours.

The dragon glanced down at the book, then up at Frederick.

“You may keep it,” she declared at last. “I’ve memorized the edible mushrooms, anyway.”

On her next visit, the dragon brought ten more books. She simply left the stack by his bed and wordlessly exited the room. He didn’t understand, and she didn’t explain.

He did enjoy the books, however.

Another day, she brought him a bowl of dark viscous liquid with his usual medicine.

“Drink that,” she instructed.

Perhaps it was because the dragon’s medicine was so effective, but he didn’t think twice. He drank, then immediately spit it up.

“Blood?!” he gagged.

“Yes.”

“From what?”

“It’s mine.”

“Why?!”

“Oh, you don’t know?” The dragon grinned. “I read that dragon’s blood has healing properties, so I’ve been mixing some into your medicine. But I figured, if my blood is so effective, why not have you drink it directly? You might heal faster.”

“But that’s…”

Cannibalism, he thought stupidly. Except it wasn’t. He was confused, that was all. It was that damn form of hers, the trick of it. Anyhow, it didn’t have to be cannibalism to be disgusting.

But if it could heal him…

Frederick stared into the dark cup. His wounds had been healing at an abnormal speed, so perhaps what the dragon said was true. He held his breath and drained the cup. Immediately, he knew it was a mistake. He felt a burning pain in his gut, and he vomited into the cup, coughing violently.

“I guess it doesn’t work like that,” the dragon remarked. “A pity.”

He let her dab the blood from his mouth. Her fingers were cool and firm. Over the past week, she had become quite the considerate nurse. She was almost gentle.

“You bleed yourself for my medicine?” he finally asked.

“That’s what I said.”

“Is that not…inconvenient for you?”

The dragon drew back her hand.

“Do you care?”

Her easy manner had evaporated. She was guarded now, voice crisp and her eyes as flint. Here and no further, her tone said. He did not heed it.

“I am curious.”

The dragon looked away.

“You don’t want to kill me,” he stated.

“ _You_ want to kill _me_ ,” she reminded him. “You and you’re people. You always, always try to kill me. No wonder he loathed humans so much.”

He?

“You haven’t forgotten your mission, have you?” Her voice was sweet with mockery. “You’re a poor knight if you have.”

It was a cheap jab at his honor, and it lacked weight. He did not let it provoke him.

“Why did you not kill me?” he pressed. “You’ve killed others. It would have been simple. Why heal me instead?”

“You’re amusing,” the dragon muttered.

“I can’t be _that_ amusing. I can’t be worth the trouble.”

The dragon said nothing.

“What’s the real reason?”

“I need no reason!” the dragon snarled. He flinched as if burnt, and so did she. A moment passed between them, terrible as death.

“I’m tired,” she said finally. “Aren’t you? Of this, over, and over, and over? Killing knights only cause more to return to kill me. I thought that maybe this time—”

She broke off and looked at him, as if he might provide the answer. He had no idea what to say.

“I do not know what I thought,” she said, heaviness edging into her voice. “What does it matter?” she continued. “It shouldn’t. Not to you. You want to kill me, after all. All you have to do is hate me. It’s simple.”

Frederick took a deep breath. Deep enough for his ribs to hurt, and then deeper still.

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”

It should have been simple. If he were stronger, more resolute, it would have been. But the more he regained his strength, the more confused he felt.

He was still angry. When he thought about the day the castle fell and all the lives lost to the dragon since, he felt so miserable he could scream. He could never forgive what had happened. He could never forget the shame of the years that followed, how the monarchy had steadily crumbled and the people were thrown into chaos. How the king and queen were poisoned, then princess Emmeryn. How the prince and princess had suffered. How he had been so weak, so powerless to do anything about it.

And yet, it was hard to imagine that she was the cause of all that pain. She did not look capable of such destruction when she was changing his bandages. She had shed his blood, but had also shed blood for him. She had talons. She had soft hands.

His hatred wouldn’t stick to her. Not that he didn’t try. But the effort wore him down and brought him no closer to actually killing her. Had he failed as a knight? Or did it not matter how he felt, so long as he got the job done?

If only she had made it simple! If she had just treated him more like a prisoner, he wouldn’t be so confused. If she had been more cruel, if she had just left him alone, he would have known how to act toward her. Why did she toy with him by treating his wounds? Why did she talk to him and try to make him comfortable?

If she did that, she almost seemed human. 

Summer, and the evenings were shot with gold. It was the one time of day that Frederick was content to just sit still. From his window, he could see the sun setting over the trees.

He had known those woods when he was a boy. He had not been allowed in—the woods had been reserved for hunting, a noble’s sport. But those trees had marked the stiff horizon to his world, and what he could not experience himself, he imagined. The woods had grown in his child’s mind to encompass all things grand and hidden. But now he knew they were just trees, weren’t they? Just that, and all the more because of it. Unbound from boyish expectation, Frederick could appreciate the trees for what they were.

And they were beautiful.

He was watching the trees and humming to himself. Rather, he was speak-singing half the lines of a walking song and humming the other half. It was a repetitive, simple ditty, but excessive of verse. Half of the lyrics made no sense—they were just words strung together to help the distance pass.

He didn’t notice her at first. She usually walked right in, caring little about his privacy. But today she hovered at the door, bowl heavy in her hands. She didn’t move until he’d stopped singing.

She wordlessly handed him his dinner. She had managed a hare and had topped it with golden mushrooms and wild strawberries. Most of it was even unburnt. She didn’t mention his singing until he was nearly finished eating.

“What was that earlier?”

There was something both urgent and tentative about the way she asked this question. It was not, he realized, asked from the vantage of intellectual curiosity.

“You mean the song?”

“That was a song?”

“You’ve never heard a song before,” he said.

The dragon did not answer him, but she didn’t need to. Of course she hadn’t heard a song. There was no one to sing to her. The twittering of the birds and the groans of the risen were the only music in her life. 

She was unusually quiet through the rest of his meal, and even after he finished, she lingered. She was not looking at him, but she wasn’t _not_ looking at him. Her expectation was thick.

He shifted. He cleared his throat.

“It’s late,” he said. There was still light in the sky.

“Yes,” the dragon agreed absently. She took his bowl. Regarded its scraps.

He waited for her to ask him to sing. If she asked, he could deny her. Then they could escape whatever strange impasse they had stumbled into. If only she would ask.

But she didn’t.

“Rest well,” she told him. Her lips bent into the shape of a smile, but perhaps it was just the light. Then she left.

He might have been relieved. He had by luck been spared the shame of becoming the dragon’s caged bird. Instead, he felt vaguely unsatisfied. She hadn’t even asked.

There was a rustle from outside the room so faint he might have imagined it. He did not hear it again, but he knew with unverifiable certainty that the dragon had not left. She was there, right beyond the door, standing quietly. Waiting, perhaps.

He fussed at the hem of his blanket. He cleared his throat. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears.

The dragon was waiting.

He took a deep breath and sang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was working on this chapter, I briefly entertained the idea of writing actual song lyrics for that last section. Fortunately for everyone, I decided that was a very bad idea that even I didn't like.


	4. The Cost of Memories

“Can you walk?” the dragon asked the next morning.

“Yes,” Frederick lied. He had wobbled a couple of steps with support from the risen, but he had not tried much more than that. 

“Good,” the dragon said. “Then let’s go.”

“Go?”

“On a walk.”

“You…want to go on a walk.”

The dragon cocked her head.

“Don’t you?”

He did. Desperately. He wanted out of this room, to be anywhere else. But to hear his desire offered so freely disoriented him. He hesitated.

“I won’t make it very far,” he said.

“You probably won’t,” she agreed. “But I will carry you, if I must.”

He grimaced. The thought itself was humiliating, but for all of her pride, she did not seem to recognize the shame in it. She held out her hand, expectant.

“Very well,” he said.

With her help, he stood. The world lurched. She caught him, one firm hand on his chest, the other on his shoulder. He had not even walked one step on his own.

“Does it hurt?” the dragon asked. She searched his face for pain. Her eyelashes were long. 

“A little,” he admitted.

“I have these,” she said, handing him a leaf from her coat pocket. “Chew it.”

He took the leaf. The taste was bitter, sharp, and familiar. Lady Lissa had given him these leaves after he’d been thrown from a horse and had broken his leg. Prince Chrom had been disconsolate—he’d blamed himself for spooking the horse. But the princess had kept her head and found some leaves to ease the pain while the prince went for help.

The memory ached worse than his wounds. But he had to bear it. He straightened himself, ignoring the protests of both his body and mind.

“Let us go.”

The stone hallway was cool beneath his feet. They moved slowly, the dragon shouldering half of his weight. She was small in this form, scarcely as tall as his shoulders, but she supported him easily. She could kill him just as easily, he reminded himself. But the thought came halfheartedly. She had not killed him yet.

“Can you handle stairs?”

Frederick imagined the treacherous journey down, the painstaking struggle back up.

“I wouldn’t try it,” he said.

“That’s too bad.” The dragon sounded genuinely disappointed. “I had hoped to show you the library.”

An ambitious hope. To his memory, the library was not only down a flight of stairs, but on the other end of the castle. It was much too far.

They reached the end of the hallway, and the dragon let him rest against the wall. He was sweating, his heart pounding. He had been badly hurt before, and he was not unfamiliar with how frustrating the healing process could be. Still, it was difficult to accept that his body had become so weak.

“I could carry you,” the dragon suddenly offered.

“What?”

“If you can’t walk, I could carry you to the library. It wouldn’t be hard.”

Again, she had said something absurd. It was one thing to carry him back when he could walk no further, another thing to let her tote him around the castle like a pet.

The dragon glanced at him, frowned.

“I’ve insulted you,” she observed.

“No,” he said, embarrassed, almost, by how quick he’d been to show irritation. Little by little, she was getting rather good at reading him.

“Why the library?” he asked.

“I like it there.”

“That’s all?”

“More or less.”

Strange. She didn’t often equivocate. But she was restless, distracted, even. What was she planning? What did she want?

“The song,” the dragon finally said.

“What about it?” Frederick asked when she said nothing more. So she _had_ been listening.

“I don’t know,” she replied. She looked at him, then away. “It was pretty.”

“I don’t think anyone has called my singing ‘pretty.’ Or anything else about me, for that matter.”

“It was,” she insisted. “And you are.”

For a joke, the dragon sounded serious. Neither of them laughed.

“I thought you said you hated humans,” he said.

“I didn’t. Well, in a way, perhaps I did. But those were not my feelings.”

Was she speaking in riddles?

“Humans are beautiful creatures,” the dragon continued. “Fragile, but relentless. Your song was that way, too.”

“I sounded…fragile?”

“Yes.”

Their eyes met, and she slowly reached her hand toward him. Frederick tensed, but did not move, even as her fingertips grazed his throat.

“Here,” she said. “Air pushes through the reeds of your throat to produce sound. That sound hangs in the air for a second, then dies. All voices are like this. And yet, you made something pretty of yours.”

She lowered her hand. His heart was still racing.

“It was pretty, but sad,” she continued. “Are all songs so sad?”

“It is not sad,” he explained. “It’s about two lovers reunited after a war. It’s a happy song.”

“But the soldier is dead, isn’t he?”

“Of course not! Why would you think such a thing?”

“The line about the robin,” the dragon said matter-of-factly. “The bird that carries the souls of the dead over the high walls of death. It’s a common motif in human poetry. The lovers reunite, but only because the robin carried the soldier’s soul home. I thought it was obvious.”

Loathe as he was to admit it, her version of the song made sense. He had himself wondered about the robin’s dark presence in an otherwise joyous scene, but her reading brought the lyrics into coherence. It disturbed him.

“You know much for having never heard a song before,” he finally said.

She smirked. Shrugged.

“I read.”

“It’s just a bird,” he insisted. “It’s just a song.”

“Yes,” the dragon said, agreeing with her words if not her eyes. “Birds do not carry souls, and the dead do not return to embrace the living. Such thoughts are sheer romance. And yet, when you sing it…”

She paused, struggling for words.

“Tell me, knight.” she finally said. “Where would your soul fly back to?”

_To him_ , Frederick thought. _To them._

But he couldn’t. He had failed. He had not killed the dragon.

What a cruel question.

“I would like to return,” he said. “I am tired. I can walk no further.”

Again, the dragon looked disappointed. Still, she nodded.

“Shall I carry you?”

He was too exhausted to refuse.

Being carried was an awkward business, especially by someone so much smaller than him. She managed it easily, as if she carried an armful of air instead of a full-grown man. But he could not look her in the face. He didn’t know where to put his hands.

He had never been carried before.

They reached his room, and the dragon sat him on the bed.

“Are you in pain?” she asked. It was the second time she had asked him today. He was tired, winded, but he felt no more pain than earlier.

“Do I look like I’m in pain?” he asked.

“It’s difficult to tell. You always look like this.”

The dragon furrowed her brow, her nose wrinkling slightly. Ah, so that was what she meant.

“I’m afraid that’s simply how my face is,” he said. Though it wasn’t nearly as severe as she made it look.

“Huh.” The dragon relaxed her face. Then she smiled. It was faint, but real. “How strange.”

Strange indeed, he thought. 

“Will you sing again?” she asked.

“A different song, perhaps.”

“I liked your last song.”

“You said it was sad.”

“Yes, but I liked it.”

He should have resisted. If she liked that song, he should have withheld it from her. What other power did he have over her, in his situation?

But he liked that song as well.

“Maybe,” he said. “If it suits me to do so.”

The days passed, and Frederick’s legs grew stronger. He could walk with the dragon for longer distances, then unassisted. She rarely needed to carry him.

The dragon seemed pleased with his progress, and she allowed him to roam the castle. Or rather, she did not stop him from leaving his room unsupervised. He wasn’t fully healed, after all. Even if he tried to escape, he would not get far.

So he contented himself with the castle’s grand walls. The abandoned bedrooms and their patina of dust. Clothes withering in chests and wardrobes. Shattered windows. Carpets ruined by damp weather. He found the kitchen, and while most of its stock had rotted, there was salt, jars of honey, and sacks of beans and wheat. Because he could, he plunged his hand into the wheat. He could make bread, he thought absentmindedly, letting the grain fall between his fingers.

He avoided the royal chambers. Out of respect or cowardice, Frederick was not sure. In his most optimistic moments, he imagined that he might salvage for the prince and princess some lost memento of the king and queen. But to open those doors would be like opening a coffin. Even though the king and queen had not perished here, he could not bring himself to do it.

The princess had not walked these halls, he realized one day. She had been born years after the castle fell. Even the prince’s memories of this place would be vague, if he had any. What was it like for them, he wondered, to miss a home they did not know?

The castle had been his home, too. Yet as he explored it, it seemed harder and harder to believe. There were so many rooms, and he hadn’t been allowed to enter most of them. But then, it had never been _his_ castle. He’d only lived in it. From that point of view, his boyhood had been hardly less confined than his life now.

It felt nearly blasphemous to entertain such thoughts. Perhaps his upbringing had been strict, but it had molded him into a competent knight. It had served a greater purpose. Such training could not be compared to his current imprisonment, which served nothing. He may have been free to meander the grounds, or even sleep in the king’s bed without punishment, but so long as he could not leave, he was not free.

When he could walk up and down a flight of stairs without stopping to catch his breath, the dragon brought up the library again. 

“I want to show you,” she said. “Please.”

It was a simple, genuine request. He had never heard her say “please” before. When he agreed, she smiled.

Why did she do that?

He had never been inside the library. Only a select few people had been granted access to the queen’s collection, and when the dragon hesitated at the door, he wondered foolishly if she, too, were afraid of being caught.

“Strange,” he heard her murmur before entering.

The library was kept in an annex overlooking the castle gardens. Dark wooden bookcases lined the walls between tall windows that let in the morning light. And on those bookshelves were more books than Frederick had seen in his entire life. Each volume was bound expensively in colored leather, and some of the spines were pressed with gold. He had seen for himself the quality of these books in the ones the dragon had brought him, but to see them en masse was something else. Overwhelming. To think, this had been quietly here for the past twenty years.

The reading tables were piled high with books, many of them lying open and piled atop each other. They appeared to be mostly books on poultice-making. So she really had learned medicine from just reading about it. It was impressive, genius, even. And a little frightening.

“You’ve read all this?” he asked, picking up an anatomy book.

“Mostly,” she said. “There are some I haven’t gotten to yet. Others I have read twice over.”

He had been referring to the books on the table. Slowly, he realized that she was referring to the books in the library.

“That…” he struggled for words. “That is quite a feat.”

“I’ve had time.”

Twenty years since she had taken the castle, and she had apparently spent most of them reading. Had the kingdom truly fallen for a library? It was ridiculous.

His throat stung with anger.

“Why bring me here?” he asked again.

“I wanted you to see it.”

“Is it precious to you?”

“Yes.”

It was an honest answer, and it vexed him. Even her naivete was arrogant, gross with power.

“And you did not think I would try to destroy it?”

He expected to provoke her to wrath. Instead, she drew back from him as if stricken. Did she truly not know that the things she loved could be used to hurt her? Had she never lost anything before?

For a few seconds, the dragon said nothing. Finally, she shook her head, a half-smile returning to her lips.

“You wouldn’t do that,” she declared. As soon as she said it, Frederick knew that he wouldn’t. It was a bluff. Having once sworn to protect this castle, he could not bring himself to destroy any part of it.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked anyway.

“You like books too, don’t you?”

As always, her reasoning was straightforward.

“I do like them,” he admitted, his anger beginning to ebb. “Not as much as you, I think. This library is like your hoard.”

“Hoard?”

“The sort that dragons keep. Usually gold and such.”

“I don’t remember having a hoard,” she remarked. For a moment, she looked lost. Then curiosity brightened her face. Hope, too. “So there are others out there still? Dragons?”

For the first time, she had asked a somewhat dangerous question. Why did she want to know that? What would she do with that information?

“I would think you’d have better knowledge of that than I,” Frederick said carefully. In truth, he was unsure. He had heard stories of dragons in the far south, but aside from her, none had been reported in Ylisse for centuries.

“Oh,” the dragon said. The hope in her expression dulled. “Yes, I suppose I would.” She ran a fond hand over the cover of a book.

“They are written about in some of these books,” she continued. “The king-slayers. The ones worshipped as gods.”

“Those are old tales.”

“But they’re not all true, are they? Not everything written in books is true.”

He hesitated. That was all the answer she needed.

“I see.” She took a deep breath. “I thought so.”

She was sad, he realized with some surprise. But it was an old sadness, one she had resigned herself to long ago. Frederick recognized that feeling. He knew it well.

“Do dragons not keep each other’s company?” he asked.

“Maybe they did, once. But I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” Meeting other dragons didn’t seem like something she was likely to forget. Why speak so vaguely unless she had something to hide?

“Do you have amnesia?” he asked facetiously.

“I don’t think so,” the dragon replied, either not picking up on his tone, or pointedly ignoring it. “I mean my father did not make me with those memories.

“…Pardon?”

“My father did not make me with those memories,” the dragon repeated.

“I heard you.”

She looked at him as if he were being dense on purpose. Then her expression softened with realization.

“That’s right,” she said. “You’re human. You wouldn’t know about fire births.”

He certainly did not.

“You know that dragons are not immortal,” she continued. “We can be killed. And if we are not killed, we will die from age. But our lives are long. With time, our minds deteriorate, even if our strength does not. We become…”

“Dangerous,” Frederick interjected.

“Tragic,” she said. “In madness, we forget ourselves. Our pride crumbles. We destroy the things that were once dear to us. We cause death, and invite death unto ourselves from humans and dragons alike.

A fire birth is one way to prevent this. We immolate, burning the madness out and shaping a new self. We are reborn from the flames with new minds.”

“At the cost of your memories,” he guessed.

“Not all of them. Some we give to our new selves. It is very literally ‘passing on.’ You can imagine my confusion when I learned that humans use that phrase as a euphemism for death. Although in some ways, it may as well be.”

She paused and looked down at the books, not really seeing them.

“The timing is difficult. Too early, and you forfeit years of clarity as yourself. Too late, and the madness prevents you from doing it at all. I…my father was late. When he came here, the madness had already set in.”

“Here,” Frederick repeated. “You mean this castle.”

“Where else?”

His hands suddenly felt cold.

“He hated humans at the end of his life,” she continued. “Although I do not know why. He must have been looking for somewhere safe to create me. He attacked this place.”

“I know. I was there.”

Frederick’s heart was pounding, and his head buzzed with blood. His own voice sounded distant to him, as if heard through water. He sounded strangely calm.

“The dragon came on a moonless night on wings black as the sky. It landed on the central tower and breathed fire through it. The guards were burned alive.”

He waited for her to respond, but she did not. They watched each other, their silence betraying nothing. Frederick took a breath, his lungs like stone.

“Are you telling me that was not you?”

“It was.”

“You said it was your father.”

“It was both. We are different, but we are inextricable. It is difficult to convey in your language. His deeds are my deeds, whether I remember them or not.”

“Do you?”

“Does it matter?”

It shouldn’t. She must die either way. But it did.

“Yes,” Frederick said.

“You really are a strange knight,” the dragon said, her taunt lacking its usual mirth. She grinned, faltered.

“As I said, my father was mad when he created me. My memories…I think he passed on much less than he could have. But I remember his hatred, and I remember most of that night. Other than that, the grand sum of my knowledge is in this room.”

He said nothing. What could he have said?

“I’ve upset you,” the dragon said.

He did not respond.

“Are you in pain?”

He did not respond.

The dragon reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a leaf. When he did not take it, she placed it on the book in front of him.

“I will leave you,” the dragon said finally.

He heard her footsteps, the sound of the door pulled open. Then hesitation.

“I wanted you to see it,” she said again. “I do not think you will destroy it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has nothing to do with this chapter, but the other day I was watching Frederick's support conversations from FE:Warriors. And there's a point in his support with Hinoka that he says, "I hardly think Chrom's decorative rocks qualify as drivel!" So now I have heard Kyle Hebert voice the line "Chrom's decorative rocks." That knowledge is going to sit in my brain for the rest of my life.


	5. Choice

Frederick was not a holy man, but he was a man of faith. As a knight, he did not choose his battles, but he had always believed that the ends he fought for were just. He had taken great pride in that. Even when it seemed his oath could lead only to ruin, his resolve had never wavered.

He was wavering now.

The facts had not changed materially. A dragon had attacked the castle, killing dozens and forcing the royal family out. That dragon had now occupied the castle for twenty years and had killed (almost) all who entered. He was tasked with killing that dragon.

It was an old story, a simple one where the dragon dies at the end. Frederick had taken it to heart, and his entire life, he had known his place in it.

But she had not attacked the castle, even though she had. She remembered that night somewhat, but not fully. Anyhow, those memories were not hers, even if they were. She claimed to have been reborn in fire. Had the blame for what had happened died with her father, or had it clung to her soul? Did dragons even _have_ souls?

He considered that she might be lying. In myths, dragons did often lie. Birth by fire. Memory loss. She could not prove these things one way or the other. Perhaps it was a trick go get him to lower his guard, like that human-looking form of hers. But that made no sense, either. With her strength, why would she need to lie?

He must assume it was true, then. But if so, was it justice to kill her? Was it vengeance? The dragon had said she did not need a reason to spare his life, but certainly the opposite was also true. He was no dragon. If he was to take life, he needed a damn good reason.

He’d thought he had one, once. Now, he did not know.

It was a quiet week. Somehow, conversing with the dragon had been easier when he’d blamed her fully. Confusion tied his tongue—he simply did not know how to speak to her.

After a couple of one-sided conversations, the dragon, sensing his reticence, grew reserved. She no longer needed to change his bandages, so they saw less of each other, talked less to each other. They did not meet when he walked the castle. Whether this was by coincidence or design, he did not know, but he suspected the latter.

He still sang to himself, occasionally. Just in case.

He had grown stronger. He could walk the entire castle without stopping and without pain. He was far from being in top condition, but the progress was welcome.

“Your strength is returning,” the dragon said one evening after she had brought him his dinner. He ate at the table now, and although there were two chairs, she did not sit. She hovered near the door.

“I suppose you’ve distinguished yourself as a healer,” he said. It was a weak, forced joke. They had not spoken for some time. Still, she smiled.

“I did not poison you, at least.”

“Except for making me drink your blood, no, you did not.”

“You can swing a sword now,” she said.

Frederick tensed. He had been visiting the armory for a few days now, just to get back into the feel of things. He hadn’t thought she’d known.

“You know, you could always…” she began to say. Then the sentence dropped, as if struck down with stones. She looked to the window, the quickly fading patch of sky. “It is getting dark.”

“Yes.”

She took the iron lantern from the table and breathed into it, a curl of flame dancing over her lips. Their faces bloomed in the fragile light, and she did not return to her spot by the door.

“There is a village,” she said. “Beyond the forest at the foot of this hill. I have not been there, but I have seen it. It is peopled.”

Her meaning took some time to sink in.

“Are you telling me to leave?” he asked.

“Would you?”

There was a strangeness to the dragon’s eyes. They seemed to shimmer. They seemed to give their own light.

“I cannot.”

The light flickered between them, and the dragon turned her face into the thickening shadows.

“Of course you can’t.”

She was, as he’d expected, in the library. There were no risen—she stood alone, and with her back to the door. He raised his sword to her neck and held it there, the steel cold and reliable in his hands.

“You really are a fool,” the dragon said. She did not turn around, nor did she lower the book in her hand. But her voice was taut as a bowstring. “If you forfeit surprise, you have nothing. You cannot kill me that way.”

“There is no honor in striking someone from behind,” Frederick said.

“Honor,” the dragon scoffed. “I’ve had enough of you knights cowering behind your so-called honor. Strike me from behind or in front, you would strike me all the same. It is false to deny it. You know, most of your fellow knights were smart enough to see that. They were fools, but they did not waste an opportunity. Not one as good as this.”

“I cannot speak for them. But I would face you, at least.”

“Would you?” she laughed. “Have it your way, then.”

She placed the book back on its shelf and turned toward him. He saw rage in her eyes, a snarl on her lips. But it suddenly crumbled to pity.

“Oh knight,” she said. “If you could see the look on your face.”

“Do not try to confuse me,” he warned. “I will kill you.”

“Is that what you want?”

He took a deep breath.

“It is not about what I want.”

“Then strike me.” She spread her arms wide. “Look—I have no scales nor armor. This room is too small to hold me. I cannot transform without destroying it.”

One strike. He only needed to land one quick, clean strike to the throat, and it would be over. He would be free. He would reclaim the castle. But Frederick’s arms would not move.

“Your hands are shaking,” the dragon said. “Do you want to kill me, or not? Choose, or else we will always be stuck here.”

“I…”

Still he could not bring himself to move. He neither swung nor lowered his sword.

“In that case, I shall take your choice from you.”

She lunged at him, or perhaps “pounced” was more accurate. She easily slipped past his blade, her hands coming down on his shoulders like hammers. He was pushed back, he was falling. But he kept his grip on his sword.

Frederick swung.

He landed hard, the dragon’s weight pinning him.

“You didn’t follow through,” she said.

The sword had stopped a finger’s width from her neck. It trembled in his hand, then clattered useless to the floor.

“I do not want to kill you,” he realized.

A smile began to spread over her face. Then something hitched in her expression. One moment she seemed pained, then the next, her face was closed off from him.

“You were a fool to try,” the dragon said coldly. She retreated, and he sat up, dazed.

“You’re bleeding,” Frederick noticed. He thought she had dodged his sword completely, but the back of her hand was bloodied.

“It’s nothing,” the dragon said. She licked the blood away, and to his shock, he saw she was correct. The wound had closed.

“Healing properties,” she reminded him. “I told you that you could not kill me.”

She had, and now he understood that her words not only out of arrogance. No wonder so many had failed to kill her. No wonder the king and queen had eventually given up on retaking the castle. Yet he did not feel crushed by the futility of his efforts. Perversely, he felt free.

He stood, his body light.

“I do not want to kill you,” he said again, this time just to feel the words in his mouth. It felt good, like putting on a clean shirt.

“Then we have nothing more to do with each other,” the dragon said. She sneered stiffly. “Run home with your tail between your legs. You can tell the other knights not to bother.”

Frederick was quiet as he considered the dragon’s words. Then the laughter welled up quick as spring water. He laughed fully, and harder than he had in years. He laughed until his freshly healed ribs ached.

“Is that funny to you, knight?” the dragon growled.

“Yes!”

“I’m telling you to leave!”

“I know,” he said, finally getting his breathing under control. “I cannot.”

“Of course you can!” The dragon was almost shouting now, the frustration rising in her voice. “If you won’t kill me, then there is nothing keeping you here! Leave!”

It was an odd thing. All this time he had threatened to kill her, and she had hardly batted an eye. But now that he had given up on killing her, for the first time she looked afraid.

“No,” Frederick said.

“Why not?”

His chest hurt. He smiled.

“Because I have no place to return to.”

_“So you’re the infamous Sir Frederick.”_

_The man stood when he was brought into the study. He was immaculately dressed, and his coat bore the crest of House Themis. The man’s hair, once a proud black, was now shot with gray. His face was sharp, but his eyes were kind._

_Even wolves could look like dogs._

_The man gestured to the tall chair across from his own._

_“Please, sit.”_

_Frederick hesitated, and one of the soldiers shoved him forward. He sat, one soldier at each side of him. The man sat, too, folding his hands on his lap._

_“I heard you gave my soldiers quite some trouble, though I expected no less. Your reputation precedes you. I was a military man too, you know. Served in his majesty’s army in Plegia, may the gods have mercy on his soul.”_

_“How dare you!” Frederick snarled, straining against the chains and the soldiers’ hands. “You regicide! Do not sully his name with your tongue!”_

_The man did not flinch._

_“‘Regicide,’ you say? I do not deny it. I did not order the assassination, but I agreed that it needed to be done. My hands are not clean. Of course, neither were his.”_

_“Your words are worthless.”_

_“But you certainly knew. You are perhaps too young to remember the misery of Plegia, but you know everything that followed. A tyrant we could tolerate, but an incompetent tyrant? A king who could not even keep his castle? Who all but hand fed squadrons of troops to that damned dragon every year? No, we could not allow that.”_

_“The prince would have been different.”_

_“He was his father’s son.”_

_“No.”_

_“He waged a war against us he knew he could not win, exactly like his father.”_

_“You killed his mother and sister.”_

_“Many mothers and sisters died under that monarchy.”_

_“But you don’t care about that. You nobles just wanted power.”_

_“You say that like it is a filthy thing,” the man said. “Of course we wanted power. Everyone does, and those who do not already have it.”_

_“Traitor.”_

_“Between the two of us, you’re the traitor, not I.” The man shook his head. “It is a shame that you could not understand that when you picked your side. You were a great knight, Sir Frederick. Ylisse would have benefitted from your strength. However, what’s done is done. I did not summon you here to litigate the past.”_

_“I’ve told your men. I do not know where they are.”_

_“Yes, you have said that. And after all this time, I’m starting to believe you. They really did leave you behind.”_

_The man did not speak with malice. Yet Frederick felt his stomach twist just the same._

_“You’re going to kill me,” Frederick stated._

_“Well, we cannot let you live. But it is a somewhat delicate situation. You are quite popular, you know. The people see you as some sort of folk hero, thanks to the prince’s pet project. The ‘Shepherds,’ I believe? Yes, cleaning up the brigands created by his father’s wars. In any case, you’re well liked, even if the monarchy is not. And we cannot afford to make any more martyrs.”_

_“It sounds like you have a problem.”_

_The man smiled._

_“Fortunately, I’m quite the problem solver. We could execute you. I’m sure you’re familiar with the myriad ways the crown dealt with traitors. And perhaps there would be riots, perhaps not. We would weather it, I think. But there is another option. One that would allow you an honorable death._

_You were there when the castle fell, weren’t you? You saw what that dragon did. You must still hold a grudge. So here is my offer—either we execute you and you die a traitor, or you bring us the dragon’s head. If you do, then you will be pardoned. If you do not, then at least you will die as a knight of Ylisse.”_

_He meant that it would be Frederick’s own weakness that killed him, not the council. He meant to show that those who fought for the monarchy were not the heroes the people thought they were._

_“What say you?” the man asked._

_“You still want the castle.”_

_“Yes, we want the castle.”_

_They did not need it. The eastern palace, where the royal family had resided for the past twenty years, had already fallen. And the nobles did not need a castle to hold council. But if the nobles could take back the castle that the king could not, it would be another nail in the monarchy’s coffin. Frederick did not wish to be their hammer. Not that he was expected to succeed. The choice was between execution, or execution by dragon._

_But if he did succeed. If he reclaimed the seat of the monarchy, then perhaps the prince and princess could return. Perhaps all was not lost. And if there was even a slight chance…_

_“The dragon,” Frederick said. “I choose the dragon.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not related at all to this chapter, but if you like "Beauty and the Beast" dynamics, I highly recommend listening to "The Beast" by Spectacle-P, which first broke my heart nearly a decade ago in high school, and without which this fic would probably not exist.


	6. Introductions

“So you were tasked to kill me on behalf of a kingdom that had cast you out?”

“Yes. Although it is a kingdom no longer.”

The dragon sat cross-legged on one of the reading tables. She tilted her head back and blew a cloud of languid smoke into the air. She watched, contemplative, as the smoke curled against the ceiling, then down the walls.

“I understand humans much less than I thought,” she mused. “You accomplish such clever things, and yet you’re so foolish. So many humans threw their lives away trying to kill me, and for what? For who? A king? A kingdom? A country? I don’t understand.”

“I wanted revenge.”

“Now _that_ I understand,” the dragon said, smirking. “You know they were not going to spare you even if you killed me, yes? Certainly they had no need of a knight who was not loyal to them only.”

He had suspected as much. While Themis had been a man of his word as a noble, relatively speaking, his influence on the council was not absolute. His word was only as good as the other eleven people he sat with. But Frederick had always known that.

“I did not do it for them,” he said.

“Of course not. You did it for your prince and princess. Didn’t they abandon you?”

“They did no such thing.” He spoke with more heat than he had intended. “They were forced to flee Ylisse when the ranks of the royal guard were broken. I went with them as far as I could, but we were pursued. I _chose_ to stay behind so they could escape.”

“That’s quite the gambit. Did it work?”

Frederick felt a flutter of doubt in his chest. He pushed it down.

“As far as I know.”

“I suppose it must have. If they had been captured, the nobles would likely have executed all of you together. Maybe there would have been no need to involve me,” the dragon said. Then she laughed, smoke sliding through her teeth. “So you were banished from Ylisse by people who want both of us dead, is that it? It sounds like you’re more dragon than knight now, even though you’re weak!”

“By human standards I am not weak.”

“That’s true. You fought through my risen alone, after all. And I thought you were just stupid. Most other knights came in groups of ten or twenty, and still they were too few. Sometimes they failed to even breach the castle gates.”

“The army was decimated by the war with Plegia,” he explained. “It was difficult for the king to justify sending knights at all.”

“Then he should not have sent any,” the dragon said matter-of-factly.

“There are many who would agree with you,” Frederick replied. “But it was no easy decision either way. Losing the castle was a great shame to the monarchy.”

“Then they should have sent the entire army at once. That way, they would have had a chance.”

Frederick sighed. He had thought as much himself, but it had been a political impossibility. The Plegian campaign had been fresh in the soldiers’ minds at the time, and tensions between the army and crown were high. No one had wanted to commit that many soldiers to a battle that was sure to have a high cost in blood. But how did he explain that to the dragon?

“Humans _are_ difficult to understand,” he said. “Often times, we do not even agree with each other.”

“Clearly.” The dragon stared at him, her eyes dark with interest. “Then what will you do?”

What indeed? Frederick had only just decided not to kill the dragon. He hadn’t exactly thought it through. He had made one choice, and suddenly dozens more were presented to him. The weight of that freedom stunned him for a moment, and he lurched beneath it. But when he finally collected his thoughts, he found there was only one thing he wanted.

“I would like to return to the prince and princess’s side,” he said. “Although I do not know where they are. And I will be killed if I’m caught in Ylisse.”

“Then don’t get caught,” the dragon said blithely.

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid.”

“Why? The nobles must think you’re dead by now. They would not look for you.”

“Yes, but to leave Ylisse, I would need to pass through at least a couple of cities or blockades. I might be recognized. And with as many spies as the nobles have, I would risk detection even in the smaller towns.”

“Then don’t pass through towns.”

Again, he was at a loss for how to explain how impossible his journey would be if he did not. The dragon did not need to eat, and as far as he had seen, she did not even need to sleep. She did not know how difficult it would be to cross the country without even a horse, and why would she when she could fly?

“In the end, I am a human, not a dragon,” he said finally. “And humans need others to live.”

The dragon frowned. Her fingers curled into fists.

“Even if they reject you? Even if you will be hunted? You know what they’re like.”

“I do,” he said. “Still, there are some who would not reject me.”

“Then you’re right. We really are different.”

The dragon jumped down from the table. She straightened her coat, her movements stiff with indifference.

“Well, I wish you luck on your journey, knight,” she said coolly. “You’ll certainly need it.”

“I’m not leaving yet,” he said.

“What?”

“It would be incredibly reckless. I haven’t figured out where I’m going, and I am not in fighting shape. I will need time to prepare. And as you said, the nobles must think I’m dead by now. They would not actively seek me out, especially not here. Ironically, this is the safest place for me.”

“You…you wish to stay?” the dragon asked, a little of the ice going out of her voice. It returned momentarily, however. “And what makes you think I’d allow that? I’ve already told you to leave.”

“You did not save my life just to let me throw it away, did you? Anyhow, this castle was my home before it was yours.”

The dragon grinned, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“You assume much.”

“Wrongly?”

She laughed again, delighted at his daring.

“Perhaps you are more formidable than I thought,” she said. “I knew you were amusing, but you’re more than that. You’re interesting. Very well, knight! You may do as you please.”

Frederick nodded, relieved. He had no backup plan, and if the dragon had not agreed…

The “dragon”? He had referred to her as such until now, just as she had called him “knight.” But those were titles only.

“I’ve never asked your name,” he realized. “What should I call you?”

She regarded him curiously.

“Why should you call me anything? You haven’t until now. There are only two of us. Is ‘you’ not enough?”

“Well, seeing as I’m no longer trying to kill you, it seems…” He fumbled for words. “Rude?”

“You tried to kill me, and you think not knowing my name is rude?”

“…Yes.”

“In that case, you’re out of luck. I have no name, or at least, I don’t remember it.”

“Is that customary among dragons?”

“To forget our names?”

“When you are reborn.”

She thought on that for a moment.

“I don’t think so. It’s just…” She waved a hand next to her head. “Gone. Probably lost when my father lost himself to madness.”

“And you did not choose a new one? After all this time?”

“Why would I?” she asked. “I had no need for a name. I have always been on my own.”

“That is…”

Incredibly sad. But Frederick could not bring himself to say so. She had spoken with an almost aggressive sense of pride, and he would not rob her of that.

“Still, I would like to know you by a name,” he said.

“I do not know yours.”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat sheepishly. “My name is Frederick.”

“Frederick,” she repeated. On her tongue, his name sounded new, and he realized it had been over a month since last he heard another say it. He had missed it more than he’d known. “What do your people call me, Frederick?”

“‘The Dragon.’ Sometimes ‘The Fell Dragon,’ or a variation thereon. Profanities.”

“Original.”

“Well, they did not know your name, either.”

The dragon pondered this for a while, her brow growing heavy with thought.

“Robin,” she said finally.

“A robin?”

“I’d like that for my name. I’ve decided.”

“As in the bird?”

“Is that so strange?”

“No, of course not,” he said. “Well, I suppose it _is_ a little ironic for a dragon to be named after a bird.”

She frowned at that, crossing her arms against her chest.

“It is a fine bird,” she said.

“And a fine name,” he insisted.

She must have liked that song of his more than he had realized. Still, a dragon named after a songbird! Frederick smiled. He held out his hand to her.

“It is good to meet you, Robin.”

She…Robin stared at his outstretched hand. She took it gingerly, but instead of shaking it, she raised it to her face. Her lips brushed the back of his hand.

“Er, Robin?!”

“What?” she asked, looking up at him. “Why is your face so red? Are you ill?”

Perhaps he was. His heart was racing, and his mouth felt dry. The back of his hand itched.

“Did you…did you kiss my hand?” he asked.

“Yes. That’s what knights do, is it not? I’ve seen it in pictures.”

“I…That’s…You’re not wrong,” Frederick stammered. “But we only do that for royalty or nobility. It is a sign of reverence.”

“Oh? What was I supposed to do, then?”

“A handshake. It’s a greeting. Here.”

He placed her hand between his. Shook it.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Hmm.”

She placed her other hand on top of his. Shook it.

“Hmm,” she said again, contemplative. “It’s strange. I have spent my whole life in study. But lately, I feel like I’m still learning so much.”

“About humans.”

“Yes. And about you, too.”

“Oh.”

Robin squeezed his hand once more, then let go. She looked up at him, her face radiant.

“It is good to meet you, Frederick!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the world wants you both dead, maybe your enemy isn't each other.


	7. A Half-Moon

He had been naïve. It was one thing to want to reunite with the prince and princess, another thing entirely to come up with a plan to do so.

Frederick spent hours in the library staring at maps until his vision swam. He had no doubt that Chrom and Lissa had fled Ylisse, but where would fugitive royals hide? Certainly they would not have gone west to Plegia. Ferox? But the road was treacherous, and relations with the Khans had been strained during the king’s lifetime—they would have no reason to harbor his children. It had been well over a month since the siege on the eastern palace. For all he knew, they could be in Valm by now.

Worse were the hours when Frederick would get it in his head that they had not escaped at all. That after Themis had captured him, Chrom and Lissa had been hunted down and slaughtered. That he drew breath when they no longer did. That all of this was for nothing.

Robin would often sit in the library with him, pulling a chair near his table and either reading her own book or simply watching him think. She had gotten into a habit of keeping close to him, even if they did not exchange words for hours at a time.

Occasionally, when his mind felt too crowded with information, he spoke his thoughts aloud. Robin listened to his ramblings, and, as was her great talent, asked questions. She had a mind for detail, and speaking to her helped untangle his thoughts. However, her questions and his inability to answer many of them revealed how rough his so-called plan was. No matter how long he stared at a map, it didn’t matter. There were too many unknowns.

Now that he was mostly recovered, Frederick began to catch his own food. He expected Robin to be relieved that she no longer had to hunt for him, but to his surprise, she seemed almost disappointed.

“You don’t need to do that,” she told him. “I am a _good_ hunter.”

Except he did need to do it. Frederick had some experience living off the land. When the Shepherds had made camp outside a village, he had hunted for Chrom and Lissa as well as himself. But that had been some time ago, and he would need to improve his skills before setting out across the country.

The forest surrounding the castle was a forgiving place to practice. It had not been hunted since the castle fell, and after twenty years it was lush with game.

Robin joined him on his hunts, supposedly concerned for his safety.

“What if you run into a bear?” she asked. “What if you’re gored by a boar? What if you can’t catch anything and starve? What if you get lost?”

He wasn’t particularly worried about any of these things happening, but he didn’t mind Robin’s company. But while she could catch anything with her speed and strength, she was terrible at stalking prey. Rather, she did not try. The first time they went hunting together, she all but dove into a bush.

“What are you doing?” he asked as she plucked leaves from her hair.

“I’m flushing them out for you.”

“Is that how you usually hunt? You just charge in and take down the first thing you get your hands on?”

“Of course. That’s not what you do?”

“It wouldn’t be efficient.”

Robin seemed skeptical, but she withheld her judgment.

“What do you do, then?”

He lay simple traps, refining his technique when they remained empty. He searched for breakage in the undergrowth, for tracks. He carried javelins on his back. Robin observed, following him through the trees with quick, interested steps. By the end of the day, he had snared one rabbit.

“Well, I understand why your people would want to domesticate cows,” Robin said, regarding the small strangled creature with mild disgust.

“You’ve killed rabbits for me before.”

“I did not give them a slow death.” She touched the snare cautiously. “This…this tightens around the animal and holds it until it dies?”

“Yes.”

She shuddered.

“I don’t have your strength or speed,” he explained. “If I do not set traps, I may not catch anything.”

“I can see that. Still, I do not care for it.”

Fishing was less contentious. Frederick found a hand net that needed only a bit of patching, and although Robin was suspicious of it at first, she seemed less bothered by it than the snare. While he trawled the river for trout, she sunned herself on the riverbank. Every now and then she would attempt to sing, but she only knew one song, and she struggled to hold her notes steady.

“Use less air,” Frederick called from the water.

“But it’s all air!” she called back.

“Yes, but use less of it!”

“I don’t know how!”

“You almost had it last time!”

She sighed loudly and tried again. The sound was…well, it was bad. But she was improving.

Frederick caught two fish, which he cleaned with a sharp knife and rubbed down with salt. He built a fire, striking a flint against a rusted trowel he had found.

“If you want fire, I can make fire,” Robin offered, exhaling a plume of smoke in case he had forgotten.

“I like making fire,” he said. “I always have.”

“Oh?” She crouched next to him, close enough for the sparks to kiss her shins. “That’s surprising, considering.”

“Considering I was there when your father attacked the castle?”

“Yes, considering that.”

There was silence between them, save for the sound of the river and flint striking iron.

“There wasn’t much fire, actually,” Frederick said finally. “The tower burned somewhat, but the flames didn’t spread. Most of the castle is made of stone, after all. It was built not to burn.”

The sparks took, and Frederick bent to blow gently on the tinder.

“Anyhow, this is different,” he continued. “This fire is as dangerous as any other fire. But I made it myself, and I can control it.”

“But not completely,” Robin said.

“Never completely,” he agreed. “But mostly.”

She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the fire light.

“Your hair has grown,” she said.

It had, down to his shoulders, in fact.

“I have not found scissors,” he said. “Do I look so bad?”

“You look fine,” she said, brushing back his bangs. “But I do have scissors. You may have them, if you’d like.”

The flames rose, and Frederick fed them more wood. He planted the skewered fish in the ground. Robin watched the fire flicker with the wind. Then she reached out to it.

“Hey!”

He caught her wrist, and for a moment they stared at each other in alarm. Then Robin began to laugh.

“It wouldn’t burn me!” she said.

“Right. Of course not,” he said, embarrassed. He let go of her wrist. She hitched her sleeve up and put her hand into the fire. As she said, she did not burn, even as the fish cooked near her wrist.

“It’s cool,” she said with the delight of discovery. “Cooler than my flames, at least. I have never felt a wood fire before.”

That explained why the meat she brought him was often charred.

“And that feels…nice?” he asked.

“It does. It’s like…” She scrunched her face, searching for the right comparison. “You know the feeling of water running through your fingers?”

“Yes.” He had been standing in a river not a half-hour ago.

“Well, it is something like that, though not very much.”

The sun dipped behind the trees as the fish browned, its skin growing crisp. He took one of the fish for himself and held the other out to Robin.

“I do not need to eat,” she reminded him.

“I know. And I will eat it if you don’t. But I thought you might like to try it.”

Robin took the fish, sniffed at it. She took a small bite out of its belly, and her face brightened.

“This is good!” she said between quick bites.

“Be careful of the bones,” Frederick warned. The fish had a muddy, savory tastes. It wasn’t anything special, but considering the first thing Robin had eaten was bear, anything would be an improvement.

Robin ate enthusiastically, but clumsily, and she stopped often to pick the delicate pin bones from her tongue. He supposed it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t help himself.

“You really don’t need to eat,” he mused.

“I don’t,” she said. She finished her fish and licked her fingers clean. “But I can.”

“What about sleep?” he asked.

“I…can,” Robin said haltingly. She threw the fishbones into the fire. “But last I tried it, I slept for an entire year and woke up with a knight’s sword in my chest.”

“You were stabbed while you slept?! By knights?!”

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“And you…you looked like this?”

“Of course I did. My other form can’t fit in a bed.”

“I—” He felt his stomach twist. Not from the fish. “I’m sorry.”

“For knights trying to kill a dragon?”

“They could not have known that’s what you were.”

“It was not difficult to figure out. You would not have done the same?”

“No,” he said immediately. Robin studied him for a moment, the fire crackling between them.

“I believe you,” she said. “After all, you did pass on an opportunity to stab me in the back.”

“I’m amazed you survived that.”

“I was, too. It was probably the closest I’ve come to death, and yet the wound was almost healed by the time I finished killing those knights.” She smiled wryly. “The wound started healing around the sword, and I had to jiggle it out. It was rough.”

“I…I can’t imagine.”

“It wasn’t so bad, actually. It was worse realizing how much time had slipped past while I slept.”

Robin reached out to the fire again, brushing her fingers through it as if petting a small animal.

“I wanted to know what dreaming was like,” she continued. “I thought that since humans woke in the morning, that I would, too. I did not expect to lose a year. If those knights had not woken me, I don’t know how long I would have slept. It will sound silly to you, but it frightened me to think about that.”

Frederick thought he should say something. Something to assure her that it wasn’t silly, and that he understood. But he didn’t. How could he? He may fear the passage of time, that every minute may steal Chrom and Lissa further away from him, but that was not comparable to a year lost to sleep.

“Did you dream?” he finally asked.

Robin withdrew her hand from the fire.

“No,” she sighed. “Perhaps I can’t. And I don’t think I’ll try again. I’d rather not suffer another rude awakening.”

She lay back, minding not the soft red dirt. She stretched her arms up toward the pale twilight, then threw them down at her sides.

“How tiresome!” she exclaimed. “You do the talking for a while. Tell me about the royals you’re searching for. Your prince and princess.”

“What do you wish to know?” he asked.

“What _should_ I know?”

He added sticks to the fire, which was starting to burn low.

“Where to begin?” he mused. “Well, the princess…her name is Lissa. She is…she is full of life. Mischief, too. Perhaps that is the consequence of being the youngest of three siblings. Once, she hid a frog in my bed because I made her eat a vegetable she did not care for. Actually, it was a couple of times.”

He had been less than pleased at the time, and he had reprimanded her thoroughly. But they were fond memories now.

“The impressive thing is that she found frogs hideous. Slimy things, things that crawl, she has a strong aversion to all of them. And yet, she caught all those frogs just to spite me.”

“And you found that endearing?” Robin asked.

“She was very young at the time. She grew out of the frogs, at least. When she reached a certain age, she got it in her head that she needed to behave more like a ‘proper’ princess. Like her sister.”

He felt the usual tug of grief. The feeling ebbed, though not completely. He pressed on.

“She tried very hard. Perhaps too hard. Court life chafed her, I think. It caused her to hold herself to certain standards. But even when she felt discouraged, she was kind. And she is exceptionally talented in medicine and magic, even if she does not always see it.”

“Magic?” Robin asked. She sat up, truly interested now. “The princess is a sorcerer?”

“A mage,” he clarified. “She does not dabble in necromancy.”

“Why not?”

“It is a dark art.”

“How so?”

“It manipulates the dead.”

“What a nonsense distinction,” Robin scoffed. “Fire and thunder magic can be used to kill, can they not? How is animating the dead ‘darker’ than that?”

“Well, it is unnatural.”

“Then all magic is.”

Frederick was no scholar of magic, and he struggled to think of a response. After all, she was a necromancer and a dragon—she did not know what he felt when he saw her risen.

“I think it dishonors the dead by making a mockery of life,” he said. “I would hate that to happen to me when I die.”

“You humans are too fragile to hold life holy.”

“It is because we are fragile that it is holy.”

She looked at him for a long time. Then she looked away.

“Tell me about the prince,” she said. “Tell me about Chrom.”

“I don’t believe I’ve told you his name.”

“So that is his name,” Robin said, clearly smug. “I assumed as much. You cried it out in your sleep.”

“Do you…watch me sleep?”

“I check on you, only to make sure you’re still breathing. Trust me, I have no interest in watching you sleep. It is a frightful thing. Sometimes you truly look dead.”

Frederick thought she spoke in jest, but there was something tense in her manner.

“You don’t have to check on me for that,” he said.

“But humans die in their sleep, don’t they?”

“I suppose,” he admitted. “But rarely, and mostly from old age.”

“How old?” she asked.

“Seventy years?” he guessed. “Eighty?”

“That is not old.”

“Not to you, no.”

For a split second, Robin looked conflicted. Or perhaps it was a trick of the fire’s heat. She took a deep breath.

“Tell me about Chrom.”

“If you promise not to watch me sleep, I might.”

She shrugged.

“I will not die in my sleep,” he added.

“You don’t know that,” she said. “But alright. I won’t.”

“Good,” he said. But now that it was time to hold up his end of the bargain, Frederick found himself hesitant to do so. He felt that anything he said would be diminished in the telling. And that would be a disservice, wouldn’t it? Then why had he not thought so when talking about Lissa?

The fire was burning low again. Robin was waiting.

“I have served Chrom since we were children,” he said. “He was the prince, second in line to the throne, and many knights protected him. But I was the first he chose to be his. Even then he was…” His mind grasped for words. “He was like the sun.”

But even as he said it, it felt false. Chrom had seemed brilliant to him, but never divine. He had also been just a boy. A boy lonely enough to choose the youngest of his father’s knights to be his companion. Perhaps that was what inspired his immediate and fierce devotion. He was a prince. He was a boy like him, and also completely unlike him.

“At first, I thought he would be, well, like his father. I did not expect him to be so kind. More than anything, that is what I want you to know about him. He is exceptionally kind. So he felt injustice strongly, especially as a child. He could not stand being powerless.”

The sun was behind the trees now, and the shadows were coming up. From somewhere in the forest, a bird issued a low, plaintive call. He waited for the call to be returned, but he heard nothing.

“It was my duty to instruct him in combat,” Frederick continued. “I thought such training would be a formality, but he was a genius with the sword. He devoted himself to it. In a short time, there was nothing more I could teach him.”

“He sought strength,” Robin said.

“He sought his _own_ strength. He had the strength of his father’s army, but it was not truly his. Anyhow, they were less than close, and Chrom wanted nothing from him. He wanted to fight with his own steel. That’s why he recruited knights and warriors to form the Shepherds. He wanted to protect Ylisse with his own hands. We wanted to protect it with him.”

“Protect it from whom?” Robin asked.

“The king…his father made more than a few enemies. Chrom expected he would inherit them. Rather, he expected his elder sister would inherit them.”

“And he was correct.”

“Yes. But he…” Frederick took a sharp breath. “He did not envision himself on the throne. He thought…we all thought it would be Emmeryn. It was _supposed_ to be Emmeryn. But in the end, he could not protect her, and I…”

The fire sputtered, sending sparks into the air.

“I could not protect him,” he said.

Robin watched him, saying nothing.

“He is an honest man. Too honest for his own good. When he trusts, he does so with his entire being. And he was grieving. He was vulnerable. He did not see the trap tightening around him until it was sprung. I did not see it.”

“But you were caught in his place. Did that not protect him?”

“Not nearly enough. And now, I cannot protect him at all.”

“You love him.”

It startled him. He had never thought of his feelings that way. He had not allowed himself to.

“He is my heart,” Frederick said. “I am tied to him by more than duty, but that bond is not oppressive. Instead, it feels like liberation. Does that make sense?”

“It does not,” Robin said. “Yet I understand, I think.”

She looked out over the river, the water dark now.

“Won’t it hurt you?” she asked. “Hasn’t it already?”

“It may,” he admitted. “It has. Being apart from him and Lissa both has been agony. But to give up on that bond would feel far worse.”

The moon had risen. A half-moon, bright in the cloudless sky. The smoke from their fire rose up, a smudge on the clear evening.

“You will find them,” Robin finally said. She did not sound sure.

“Are you comforting me?”

“That is what humans do, is it not? I thought I’d try it.” She plucked a stone from the ground and threw it into the river. “But it’s a lie. I cannot know that. Obviously.”

“Knowing is not the point.”

“Now _that_ does not make sense.”

“Thank you, Robin,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I do.”

He heard her begin to say something, but her breath caught. She picked up another stone, but this time did not throw it.

“It is confusing,” she said.

Yes, he agreed silently, watching her turn the stone in her hand. It was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have published this chapter sooner if FEH had not added a Forging Bonds event with both Emmeryn and Mustafa, because ohoho, that is some intriguing shit.


	8. We Crumble; Walls Go Up

Frederick’s body had healed, but even after resuming his usual fitness regimen, he still felt sluggish. Before the coup, he had spent hours of his day training younger knights and sharpening his own skills in turn. Even when the Shepherds’ expeditions had taken him from the palace, he had sparred with Chrom. Now, it was just him.

He still practiced his swordsmanship daily. But he had always found shadow-sparring inefficient, and it did nothing to improve his dulled reflexes. At first, Robin had observed these sessions with keen interest. But after a few days of watching him repeat the same movements, she brought a book with her to read in the shade.

“I still don’t see the point of this,” she said. “Humans were not built to fight. No matter how hard you train, there are limits to your strength.”

“Perhaps. But I have not reached my limits yet.”

“You wish to be a more effective killer?”

“There are other uses for strength besides killing.”

“Such as?”

“I wish to use my strength to protect people. I always have.”

“Hmm.”

She watched him swing his sword through nothing.

“If you are in need of a partner, I could summon a few risen,” she offered, not for the first time.

“I would prefer not to batter the dead,” he reminded her. “They are not tools.”

“Suit yourself,” Robin said, turning a page in her book.

“You could spar with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Spar with me, Robin.”

“You’ve gone mad,” she scoffed. “You only just decided you wouldn’t kill me, yet you would point a sword at me again?”

“This is a training sword,” he explained. “Sparring does not mean a fight to the death. It is only practice.”

“You want to practice killing me?”

“You really are fixated on that, aren’t you?”

Robin narrowed her eyes.

“I do not intend to hurt you,” he said. “I swear. But I must get back into fighting shape. The quickest way to do that would be to test myself against a strong rival. And I can think of no stronger rival than you.”

“Ha!” she snorted. “You’re not wrong. There is no one stronger than me. Which is exactly the problem. You’re outmatched, Frederick.”

“Well, you have never seen me at full strength.”

“You just said you’re not in fighting shape.”

“Which is why I’m asking you to spar with me.”

“This is circular,” Robin growled. “I do not play at fighting.”

“I understand,” he said, nodding. “You’re nervous.”

“…And how is that?”

“I’d imagine it would be rather embarrassing were I to win. Better not to risk it.”

She grinned, smoke curling around her lips.

“Watch your words, knight. They outpace your ability.”

“Please, Robin, return to your reading. Let me bother you no more.”

“Alright,” she said, slamming her book shut. She stood, shrugging off her coat. “We’ll do things your way.”

A shiver flew up Frederick’s spine. Failing to control one’s emotions before a fight was amateurish. Still, the prospect of fighting a dragon when his life was not on the line was exhilarating. As far as he knew, no other person had had this opportunity.

“How do we do this?” Robin asked.

“That depends. Would you like a weapon?” He gestured to the training spears and axes he had salvaged. She glanced at them disinterestedly.

“I _am_ a weapon,” she reminded him.

“Then fight however you wish,” he said, raising his sword into a defensive stance. His reach was longer than hers. It would likely be his only advantage.

She circled him, though he did not imagine it was out of caution. He followed her steps with his blade, careful not to let his form drop. He could not afford to give her the slightest opening. Not that she needed one.

Robin lunged forward, almost heedless of the sword between them. She was quick, but this time he was not caught off guard. With a flick of his wrist, he curved his blade toward her, and she retreated. Only to close in again, ducking low as if to sweep his legs. He leapt backwards, and she pursued him, kicking at his ankles. She wanted him off balance, or in the alternative, to take a reckless swing and leave himself unguarded. Instead, he jabbed at her with short, stinging thrusts. She retreated again, her face bright.

“I admit, you’re better than I expected,” she said.

“You’re holding back,” he chided.

“Obviously.”

Robin rushed forward, quicker this time. Before he could move, she had swatted his sword aside with the flat of her palm. Frederick stumbled, and in a moment of sheer luck fell out of the way of her fist. But he could not catch himself. He braced for impact.

Only to feel a tug at his wrist.

Robin smirked down at him. Then she pulled him up and shoved him hard. Her strength was incredible, but he managed to stay on his feet. His breathing came hard, but he had no time catch it. She was at him again, peppering him with blows he could barely parry. He tried to push her back with a thrust, but it was like trying to strike the wind. She twisted out of the way, her hand lashing up like whip.

“Nng!”

Frederick felt a stinging pain in his right hand, the sword clattering to the ground behind him.

“I win,” Robin said. Then she saw him.

It was not a serious wound, just a scrape. But it was bright against his skin in the way fresh cuts are. The blood bubbled up, for a moment a perfect ruby. Then it began to run.

“Ah,” Frederick said. “You must have grazed me.” He pressed his shirt to the wound, wincing slightly. “I suppose that’s what I get for goading you…Robin? Are you alright?”

She stood as if frozen in place, her gaze fixed on his hand.

“You’re…bleeding,” she said. It was nothing new—she had seen him bleed before. But this time she sounded spooked.

“Only a little. Scratches like these are quite common in training. See?”

He raised his hand to show her the scars that covered it, but she flinched away.

“I—I did not mean to.”

“I know,” he said. “It was an accident.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she said, panic rising in her voice. “I did not _mean_ to. That’s the entire problem! I didn’t even know my claws were out. I—”

“Robin.”

“I am a weapon.”

“That is not true.”

She laughed, the sound hollow.

“This isn’t working,” she said. “This was a mistake.”

“What?”

“ _This_.” She waved her arm between them. “Even if we agree not to kill each other, it does not change what we are. We are not meant to coexist. I hurt people. It’s what I…it’s what dragons do. And I am going to hurt you, too.”

“You do not know that.”

“I _just_ did!”

“This does not count as ‘hurting me,’ Robin. I’ve already told you it was an _accident_. It happens commonly, even among humans.”

She did not look so sure. She did not look sure of anything.

“It happens,” he said again. “People hurt each other, even when they do not intend to. It is simply a risk of living with others.”

“That is terrifying!”

“You’re afraid?” he asked.

Robin glared at him.

“Aren’t you afraid of _me_?” she asked

Frederick’s first instinct was to deny it. But neither of them would believe that.

“There is a part of me that fears you,” he admitted. “A part of you, at least.” 

He stared at her. She could not hold his gaze.

“You have never taken your other form in front of me,” he realized. “Not since we first met.”

“Of course I haven’t,” she said, flustered now. “You would…react poorly.”

“I want to see it.”

“Now?!”

“I do not want to be afraid any longer,” he explained. “I want to conquer that part of myself. Please, Robin, I want you to help me do that.”

For a moment, he thought she would refuse. Perhaps he had asked too much. But finally she nodded.

“Turn around,” she told him.

He did. There was a rustling of clothes and wings, and he felt the dragon’s hot breath against his back. Fear lanced through him, sharp and sour. He willed it to pass.

Frederick turned to look at her. Six eyes stared back at him. They were the size of his head and the color of honey shot with blood.

“Is this what you wanted?” she asked, her voice rumbling over him. Her fangs were as long as his arm.

“Yes,” he said.

In the sunlight, her black scales were iridescent, like the back of a beetle. He reached out, running a tentative hand over her face. Against his palm, she was neither myth nor nightmare. She was solid, her scales hot as stones left out in the sun.

“I suppose you could incinerate me right here,” he said.

“I could.”

She exhaled, black smoke wreathing around him.

“But you won’t.”

“I do not want to.”

“Then that is enough,” he said, lowering his hand. “You know, from up close, you look smaller than I remember.”

“Is that an insult?”

“It is an observation.”

She sighed or growled (both?) and lifted her head. Slowly, the wings tucked against her back began to unfurl. Six long wings covered in slender feathers, black against the sky. She towered over him, her silhouette eclipsing the sun.

She was magnificent.

“Most people don’t think of dragons as having feathers, you know,” he said, stroking the feathers that lined her neck. They were softer than he expected. For a moment, she seemed to lean into his touch. Then she jerked away, her feathers bristling.

“I’m turning back,” she said.

“Wait, Robin—”

The dark shape of her body wavered, and the dragon dispersed as if made of shadow. Robin emerged, human-looking again. Frederick picked up her shift and handed it to her, careful not to let his eyes linger.

“I will fetch bandages for your hand,” she said, dressing in a rush.

“It doesn’t need bandages. The bleeding has almost stopped.”

“I will fetch them,” she insisted. She seemed about to bolt.

“Robin, wait.” He caught her by the arm. “What’s wrong? Are you…”

She turned to him, her expression like a split bone.

“You _are_ afraid,” he said, letting go of her arm. “Of me?”

“I am not,” Robin said. She brought her hand to her chest, as if protecting an old scar. “I know fear. I remember it strongly, barricading myself against it. But this is not that. Being around you is…nice. And that makes me anxious. It is like…like I am standing on ice, waiting for it to crack. Maybe I should be afraid.”

It was an honest answer. Painfully so.

“Robin, I do not intend to hurt you.”

“I know. You’ve said as much.”

“I don’t think I could. And I have tried.”

She almost smiled at that.

“You’re right,” she said. Then she looked away. “I won’t let anyone hurt me again.”

Frederick needed a horse.

He had formulated something of a plan, or at least the beginning of what could feasibly become a plan. If he could get a horse, he could travel to Ylisstol to gather information. It would be risky, a veritable journey into the lion’s den. But he saw no other options. He had no leads as to the prince and princess’s whereabouts, which meant he could either take the risk, or wander aimlessly for the rest of his life. And he suspected that Robin was right—nobody would look for him. If he lay low, he could be in and out of the capital without the council ever knowing. It could work!

“It will not work.”

He frowned. Robin had been critical of his ideas before, but not outright dismissive. In fact, she had hardly acknowledged him at all.

In the days following the sparring accident, Robin had decided to reorganize the library. At least, that is what he assumed she was doing. She had taken all the books from their shelves and stacked them in high piles on the floor. He had nearly tripped over them on his way in. Now, she stood surrounded by books, occasionally moving a couple from one pile to another. If there was a method behind her choices, he did not see it.

“It will work,” he said. “There is a possibility.”

“You’ll be found out,” she said. She picked up a book, then put it back on the same pile. “You could not fight your way out before. What makes you think you could now?”

“I’ll hide. I won’t be caught.”

“Even so, who would talk to you? What do you hope to learn there?”

“I have contacts in Ylisstol. Friends. They would help me.”

“Are these friends of yours still alive? Would they not have been taken prisoner by now?”

Frederick felt a twinge of frustration. He did not know that, and she _knew_ he did not know that. The only point in asking was to discourage him. But he refused to be discouraged.

“I have faith in them,” he said. “It _will_ work. I am only asking if you would guide me to the village.”

Her hand, reaching for a book, flinched. Frederick did not notice.

“You said there was one nearby, didn’t you?” he continued. “I need a horse, and I hope to trade for one there.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I will not take you.”

He blinked at her, surprised. He had not thought it too much to ask.

“Why not?”

“ _Why_?” Robin looked up at him, her irritation plain. “Why should I? So you can ride off and get yourself killed?”

“That is not what I’m doing.”

“It is exactly what you’re doing.”

“It will work!” he insisted, his temper flaring to match hers. “Why do you keep assuming that everything will go wrong?”

“Why do you assume it will work?” she shot back.

“Because…because it has to.”

Frederick knew how he sounded. But he needed to believe it because he could not move forward otherwise. It was not the correct answer, but it was the only one he could accept.

Robin pounced on it.

“Oh, it _has_ to, does it? And when has that ever been enough? When I defeated you? When the nobles captured you?”

“Robin,” he warned.

“But let’s say it does work,” she continued, her voice a dangerous purr. “Let’s pretend. You get the information you want. You find your prince and princess. What will you do then?”

He glared at her.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” she pressed.

“We would return to Ylisse.”

“To reclaim the throne?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are fighting a battle you have already lost,” Robin said, her words sharp and scornful. “Your army has fallen, and your enemies far outnumber your allies. You would escape death, only to run back right into its jaws.”

“Then it would be a valiant death!”

“Why are you always in such a rush to die?” she exclaimed. “Do you really think Chrom would want that for you?”

“Do not lecture me about what he would want. You don’t know him!”

“If he’s the type of man who would let his allies die for nothing, then I don’t want to!”

“What concern is it of yours, anyhow?” Frederick’s throat was hot. His anger felt infinite and cruel. For _nothing_! She said it had all been for _nothing_! “You are loyal to nothing but yourself! How could a dragon understand what we have lost? What we had to sacrifice?”

“I don’t have to understand to know that you’re throwing your life away for a cause that does not want you! You are a prisoner to your loyalty, and it’s going to be the death of you!”

“ _I’m_ the prisoner?” he laughed. “At least I’m not too much of a coward to set foot outside this castle!”

It was a stab in the dark. He did not expect it to strike true.

Something within her seemed to fracture. Robin recoiled, knocking into a pile of books and sending them tumbling to the floor. For a moment, her expression hovered between shock and betrayal. Then it flattened. Hardened.

“Then leave,” she said, her voice thick.

“What?”

“Leave.”

“Robin, I’m—”

“You were always going to leave anyhow, weren’t you?” she snarled. “Just go!”

She pushed past him before he could say anything else, leaving him alone among the scattered books. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Alright,” he said to himself. “Alright.”

The next morning, Frederick packed a bag and filled a waterskin. He tried to tell Robin he was going. He searched the castle for her, but she was nowhere to be found. Finally, he could not afford to lose any more daylight. He left, the castle still and silent behind him.

When he reached the gates, he looked back. The burnt tower stood grim against the eastern sky. Squinting through the light, he saw the silhouette of a person perched at the top of the tower. They stared at each other for a long time. Then he turned and walked into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is fine.


	9. The Dragon's Shadow

A single risen stood in the middle of the road.

Frederick approached it warily, hand at his sword’s hilt. None of the other risen had attacked him, even after Robin had ordered him out. Still, this was risen behavior that he had not seen before. He had to be ready for anything.

The risen’s vacant eyes followed him as he moved. But it did not seem hostile; it was not even armed. As he drew closer, it raised a hand and waved.

The gesture was so unexpected that Frederick felt compelled to wave back, and he felt rightfully silly when his greeting went unacknowledged. From the looks of it, this risen may have been a knight once, tasked with slaying the dragon in the castle, just like him. But now it was no more than an undead doll animated by magic. It followed simple commands, but it was not autonomous.

The risen turned and began to shamble down the road. It got a good distance away, stopped, then turned and shambled back toward him. It waved again, vigorously this time. Was it beckoning him?

“You…want me to follow you?” he asked. The risen did not respond. It started down the road again, and Frederick followed it.

“Did Robin send you? Are you leading me to the village?” he asked it. The risen said nothing, of course. It just walked, its dead lungs heaving dead air. He chose to interpret that as a “yes.”

They walked in what Frederick considered to be uncomfortable silence. Now that his head had cooled from yesterday’s argument, he wondered if Robin was right after all. He, who was usually careful in all things, was being reckless. But what did it matter if he was reckless with his own life? Defending his liege, even at the cost of his life, was what it meant to be a knight. It was what he had sworn to do. Even if the kingdom had fallen, even if the crown was broken, even if his prince and princess were lost, he was still a knight. And if he was not a knight, then he was nothing.

Right?

_“Do you really think Chrom would want that for you?”_

Frederick had resented that question. Even now, he wished she hadn’t touched that. Chrom was not a rhetorical device to be leveraged against him. She had no right to use him like that. But mostly Frederick resented Robin’s ability to ask what he had never allowed himself to.

(Knights did not get to ask. They did not get to want.)

But what _did_ Chrom want? Frederick had assumed he wanted to reclaim the throne. It was what he was supposed to want. He was a prince, after all. To rule was his birthright, and the line of succession had been a given.

But what if he didn’t want that? What would that mean?

It would mean a great deal pain, certainly. But if they could survive that, then perhaps it also meant an opportunity for other things. Now, Frederick saw before him possibilities he had never allowed himself to consider. They could live different lives, lives that had been previously denied from them. It would be difficult, yes. The world would be hostile to them, yes. But they could. Anything could happen. Anything could change.

But he was getting ahead of himself. First, he needed to find Chrom and Lissa. He could not know what they really wanted otherwise.

_“You were always going to leave anyhow, weren’t you?”_

The memory of Robin’s words blindsided him. In the moment, he had been too angry and too hurt to process them. But those had been her true feelings, hadn’t they? The ice she felt she was standing on when she was with him—it had been that.

And it had shattered.

It was true that he had to leave the castle eventually. They had not discussed it, but they’d both known. Still, he should not have lost his temper with her. He should not have said what he had. For all her power, Robin was afraid. Her fear ran deeper than he’d realized. She had deserved his patience.

But hadn’t he also deserved patience? Robin had all but told him that his friends were dead. She had recounted his failures. She had done so knowing it would upset him.

But then, he had also known _that_.

It was simple—Robin had expected a fight, so she had started one. She expected things to fail, so she had ensured that they did. In his younger days, Chrom had lashed out in similar ways when he’d felt powerless against his father. It was desperation and fear masquerading as scorn. And it was always self-defeating.

But Frederick had known better than to respond the way he had. After all, he had lived in the world. She had not.

_“You lied to her,”_ he thought to himself. _“You said you would not hurt her, and then you did.”_

Frederick wanted to apologize, though he was not sure that Robin would let him. She had told him to leave, had hidden from him when he’d searched for her. She wanted to be alone. Of course she did. Her entire life, she had been attacked by humans. Why should he be any different?

But the thought of her alone in that castle again pained him. She had gotten what she wanted, but wasn’t it an awful thing to aspire to? To be alone?

She had said she liked being with him.

He liked being with her, too. He wanted…

Frederick tripped on a root and nearly planted his face into the dirt. When he did not immediately get up, the risen lumbered over to him and nudged his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he groaned, picking himself up. “I’m alright.”

The risen gurgled slightly, then resumed its slow march. He followed, grateful the risen could not comment on how flushed his face was.

Well, there was no reason to be flustered, Frederick chided himself. Robin was pleasant to be around. Obviously. In fact, it would be insulting if he didn’t think so.

_“Is that what you want?”_

What _did_ he want?

He wanted to go to Chrom and Lissa. As a knight, it was what he was supposed to want, which didn’t mean he wanted it any less. But it was easy to want.

Robin had complicated that. She was the first person to ask him what he wanted. But that question was too big for him, and he was not sure he was brave enough to confront it yet. As always, it was easier to start with what he did not want.

He did not want to leave her.

After a couple hours, they reached the edges of the old capital—the grand city built around the castle on the hill. Its white stones stood empty now, evacuated during the dragon’s assault on the castle. The dragon had never attacked the city. But the royal family had moved to the eastern palace, and the capital moved with them. People had abandoned their homes, fearing the dragon’s eventual judgment.

They walked west. Without people, the streets seemed ludicrously wide. They passed through a merchant’s district, the stores long since picked clean of any wares that had been left behind, ivy had grown over the walls. He did not remember this city, he realized. He had not often been allowed to come here as a page, and when he had, he was not allowed to wander. He did not know these streets, nor the lives of the people who had once animated them. Even the architecture, ancient and stark, was vastly different from the adorned style of the eastern capital.

Suddenly, the risen stopped. Frederick stopped with it, though he did not know why. The risen raised its arm, pointing toward the city’s western wall. Keep going, it seemed to say. Then it turned, walking back the way they came.

Frederick continued on without his guide. He reached the western gate, or what remained of it. The gate itself had been wrenched from its hinges, and the city stood open to all who dared enter it. Or leave it. He could see the village from there, though it was still some ways off.

He arrived a little before dusk, as the cooking fires were coming on. It was a proper village—not the modest outpost he’d expected. And there were real, living people coming in from the day’s work, mingling with each other. A gaggle of children passed him in pursuit of a goat. A small group chatted idly by a well, their full buckets waiting at their feet. It was a peaceful evening. To Frederick, the mundanity of it felt profound.

“Good evening,” he called out to an elderly man guiding a wood-laden donkey by the bridle. The man stopped and eyed him over. He resisted the urge to pull his hood up.

“You’ll want the inn,” the man said.

“I…had not yet said anything.”

“You a traveler?” the man asked brusquely.

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll want the inn. There.” The man nodded at a wide building across the square, then led his donkey away before Frederick could thank him.

The inn was impressive, comparable to one you would find in a city. It even had a shingled roof instead of a thatched one. But why did a village of this size need an inn? Who would come here?

The inside of the inn was as impressive as the outside, if not more so. It had a floor of polished wood, real bar, and a long dining table. Two beds were pushed against the far wall, a standing curtain drawn between them for privacy.

“Welcome!” A red-haired woman grinned at him from behind the bar. “You must be a traveler! What can I do for you? You need food? A bed?”

“A horse, actually,” he said.

“A horse?”

“Yes.” He quickly recalling the story he’d prepared. “My mare broke her leg on the road, unfortunately, and I had to put her down. I am traveling to—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” the innkeeper said. “Not to be rude, but we make it a point around here not to know too much about the affairs of outsiders, and vice versa.”

“Oh. That’s…curious.”

“Well, we’re a curious lot!” she laughed. “We’ve chosen to make our home in the Dragon’s Shadow, after all!”

“That’s what you call this place?”

“I know. Dramatic, isn’t it? But it’s also accurate, given, you know.”

“The dragon?”

“You guessed it! You’d have to be stupid or desperate to enter a dragon’s territory. And not to brag, but we’re pretty smart folk. Which is why don’t get tangled up in the problems of people just passing through. It’s more convenient for everyone that way, especially for poor liars.”

She winked at him.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“Right. Well, in any case, I’m sorry about your horse. You must have been so grief-stricken that you left the saddle on the body. Anyhow, I’m sure someone around here would be willing to sell you a horse _and_ everything you need to ride it. I’ll ask around and see if I can facilitate a deal.”

“I’d be much obliged,” he said reluctantly. The innkeeper laughed again.

“You’re actually quite honest, aren’t you?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not bad, just potentially fatal. Now, there’s no need to look so grim. No one here cares about what you’re running from, so long as it doesn’t follow you here. And it won’t, will it?”

“No.”

“That’s all we need to know. Now.” The innkeeper’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “Seeing as I’m finding a seller for you, you’ll be spending the night here, yes? I guarantee you won’t find accommodations more comfortable and reasonably priced!”

Her sales pitch was so aggressive it was almost a threat. Still, she was right—her rates were reasonable, considering she ran the only inn in town. 

As the evening wore on, people began to come to the inn. They were locals, not travelers seeking beds. They were friendly enough toward him, but distant. They asked no questions. Many of the villagers were older, and they came bearing some food item for the innkeeper—a few potatoes or carrots, bread, a half-pail of milk. One woman came bearing a lamb shank, and the room erupted into applause.

The sun set and so was the long table. The candles were lit, and someone passed Frederick a bowl of thin stew, a hunk of bread, a mug of frothy ale. People ate and talked, laughed with their mouths full. At one point a cat leapt onto the table, its paw landing right in someone’s soup, and there was a clamor of shouts and hisses as they tried to chase it out the door.

Frederick nursed his stew at the bar. It was simple, but delicious. How long had it been since he’d been among people like this? He was not one of them—the villagers had made that clear. It was nice to be near them. It was also very lonely.

“It’s a lively crowd,” he said to the innkeeper. “I did not expect, well, any of this.”

“We’ve done alright for ourselves,” the innkeeper replied.

“I don’t remember there being a village here before, well, the dragon.”

“That’s because there wasn’t one. These used to be crown lands, actually. Everything between the city and the outer wall. But it’s been lordless ever since the dragon chased the king out. And you know what that means.”

“What?”

“No taxes,” said another woman. She held out her empty mug, which the innkeeper filled from a keg behind the bar. “No living on another man’s land or harvesting another man’s crops. But so long as the king’s afraid to come back here, we’re free to go about as we please.”

“It’s the nobles, now,” the innkeeper said. “The king’s dead, remember?”

“Kings, nobles, it doesn’t matter,” the woman scoffed. “They’re all too afraid of the dragon to touch us.”

“And you’re not?” Frederick asked, amazed that she would proclaim her opinions so loudly. Such words would have been treason in Ylisstol.

“What has the dragon ever done to us? It hasn’t started a losing war, which is far better than I could say about the king. I’ve lived ten years here, and I haven’t even _seen_ the dragon. Those dead walkers are creepy, sure, but they don’t wander here often, and our dogs chase ‘em off before they can do any real harm.”

The woman took a large swallow of ale. Then she stared at him through narrowed eyes. Frederick was beginning to tire of being looked over.

“He’s the traveler in need of a horse?” she asked the innkeeper, who nodded. “I have a mare I’m willing to sell. She’s past her foaling years, but plenty good for riding still. Come by my place tomorrow morning and we can discuss a price.”

“Well, you heard her,” the innkeeper said as the woman returned to the table with her drink. “More ale? The first mug was free with the price of your bed, but I am charging you from here on out.”

“No thank you.”

“Alright. But if you change your mind…”

“Actually,” he said suddenly. “You would happen to be selling anything sweet, would you?” 

“Sweet? Well, I could make some honey cakes.”

“I’m looking for something with sugar, specifically.”

For the first time that night, the innkeeper actually looked surprised. Then she sighed and crossed her arms.

“Listen,” she said. “I have my pride in keeping this place well stocked. I have…connections that make it worthwhile for traders to brave a dragon’s territory. So if this is some kind of a joke, then let me tell you, traveler, it’s not appreciated.”

“I’m quite serious,” he said. “I take it that trade routes still disrupted, then?”

“‘Disrupted’ is one word for it. More like Valm is hesitant to do business with regicides. Not like they have much of a choice. They can’t blame pirates forever.”

“I see.”

“Do you?” The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. Then she shook her head. “Well, that’s none of my business.”

It grew late. Slowly people trickled out of the inn, returning to their own beds. Frederick helped the innkeeper clear the table and sweep the floor, to chase the cat out again.

When everyone had left, the innkeeper bid him good night and retired to a back room, leaving him to an unfamiliar bed. As he tried to get comfortable, he recalled Robin’s story of waking up with a sword in her heart. His mind leapt in panic, but no, he did not think that would happen here. These were not that kind of people.

Robin would still be awake, he thought. How did she fill her sleepless hours? Did the days simply bleed into one another? Did she not bend under the burden of unceasing consciousness?

Was she still angry with him?

He would apologize, Frederick thought as he drifted off. He would tell her…

The next morning, he paid fifty gold for a horse. Fifty-five including the saddle and bridle. Fifty-five gold pieces he had taken from the castle’s treasury. And although he had told himself it was all in the service of the crown, Frederick felt like a graverobber when he handed the money over.

It was not a good bargain on his end, but was not unfair, all things considered. The horse was not young, but she was in good health and had an even temperament. He had no complaints, and it felt good to be back in the saddle again.

“You’re heading out, then?” the innkeeper asked.

“Yes,” Frederick said from astride the horse. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“And thank _you_ for your patronage,” the innkeeper said. “Hope that horse gets you where you need to go, wherever that may be. Safe travels, traveler.”

It was strange to leave that village. He was grateful for the chance to be with humans again, and a part of him ached for that sense of camaraderie. But mostly, he was anxious to return to the castle. To see Robin. There were things he wanted to tell her.

The journey was quicker on horseback. The mare was not fast, but she handled easily and could maintain a steady trot. She would be well suited to long distance riding, so long as they were not pursued. Despite taking a few wrong turns, he had navigated through the city without trouble.

The woods were trickier. Almost immediately, the mare became nervous, her ears flattening. The risen were among the trees, watching from the shadows. But they let him pass.

Frederick rode hard up the hill, his heart high with hope. Perhaps Robin was still angry at him. Perhaps she would not accept his apology. But the risen had not attacked him, which seemed promising. This could work. It could still work.

He had to try.

The castle crested into view, the same as he had left it—the burnt tower against the sky and the silhouette perched on it. He arrived in the courtyard, dismounting from the horse, and Robin stood. Her face was too distant for Frederick to make out her expression. Then she stepped off of the tower.

He thought she would fly. But she didn’t. She slid down the side of the tower, her talons raking against the old stones. Her landing was light, almost feline.

“Robin!” he called.

She stared at him from across the courtyard. Then she charged him.

Maybe she was still angry after all.

She tackled him to the ground. Her body lighter than he’d expected. She leaned over him, her fists bunched in his shirt, the canopy of her hair falling around his face.

_“I suppose you could incinerate me right here.”_

_“I could.”_

Robin looked down at him, her expression caught between affection and disbelief.

“You came back,” she whispered.

He reached up, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real "fantasy" of this fantasy au is Frederick traveling and going to a bar.


	10. Reprise

_“Just go!”_

She had ruined it, hadn’t she?

He had called for her before he left, her name echoing through the castle’s inexorable walls. On top of the tower, she had pushed her palms over her ears so his voice was drowned out by the roar of her blood, the creaking of her muscles.

What did it matter that he called? It wasn’t even her real name, just a word she had stolen. Therefore, it was not to her that he called. It was not her. He called to no one.

Eventually, he gave up. She watched him leave. He was the first to do so. From a distance, he was almost indistinguishable from any other human. The comparison left a sour taste in her mouth. It felt wrong because it was true. He was just another human, one of many thousands.

He slipped into the trees. Gone.

He was gone.

The morning ripened, and the sunlight grew harsh. There was no shade on top the tower, but she did not move. The sun could not burn her. Her body was fire.

It was better this way, wasn’t it? He was always going to leave. He did not belong in a dragon’s lair, and he could never be happy in it. No human could. They were weak. They clung desperately to each other. But she was not like them. She was strong enough to live alone, accountable to none but herself. That was why they feared her, envied her, why they had to kill her.

_Hate them_ , a small, yet persistent voice in her heart said. The remnants of what had come before. Shreds of the consciousness she called “father.”

_Hate them, for they are hateful. Humans are petty, ugly things. They would destroy each other and blame you for it. Better to hate them. Better to destroy them first. Haven’t they hurt us enough? Again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again._

It was a tiresome mantra, and one she didn’t even believe. She could not deny that there was a part of her that found its call alluring. She understood the desire to burn it all, to darken their skies with ash and wings. But she would not.

She did not hate humans. She was enthralled by them. They were clever at more than just violence, at least according to their books. They built as many things as they destroyed, which was more than she could claim. Humans had hurt her, yes, but what was a wound to one who healed as fast as she? A dragon’s pain was like a human life—insignificant. It simply did not matter. Anyhow, she had paid back her pain tenfold, a hundredfold, with fangs and fire.

Why was it different this time?

Why did she feel so miserable?

Below her, the woods were thick with summer, with white and purple blossoms shooting up between the birches. The dry, bright voices of insects rose from dead leaves. Birds cut the sky with their flight, joyfully drinking the cool air above the trees. He might have reached the empty city by now, she thought.

There was a memory, vague as a heat shimmer. Of a city under the sun. Of tall rooms with cool, smooth floors. A memory where she lived as a dragon among humans. And she was not feared or rejected, but adored. Their voices soft. Their hands kind.

It was not her memory, so it must have been her father’s. He had given her his fear and hatred, and nestled at the center of it all was this. It was a raw, tender thing. Thinking about it was like shoving a thumb into a fish’s breathing gills. She could not hold the memory for long. But her father had clung to it, even in the flames of madness. Or perhaps it was this memory that had driven him mad. A gentle poison.

Would she become like him, too? Living in a constant state of death? Curled around her own pearl of misery, only to bestow it upon her next self? What a curse that was.

Before, this had seemed a matter of course. Dragons died as they lived—in conflict or alone. This knowledge was baked into her bones. She had not mourned it, nor had she sought anything more for herself. Now, it filled her with sorrow.

Why sorrow? The depth of this feeling was new to her, and she did not understand it. Perhaps she should have heeded her father’s wisdom and killed that knight before he could trouble her heart. Why terrify her with hope that he could not make good on? Who was he to do this to her? He was no one. A disgraced knight. An exile.

Why had she sent him away?

She had wanted to keep him, to hold him in these walls with her. In the beginning, she had considered it. She had almost convinced herself that she had spared him for that purpose. But it was not true. He did not want to be here, and she could not have made him stay without breaking him. She could accept humanity’s hatred. But she had not wanted _him_ to hate her.

He probably did now. She had ruined it. She should not have said those things to him. She should not have tried to make him feel weak, should not have belittled his prince. He had offered her patience, and she had made a mockery of him.

She had felt threatened by his faith, how it compelled him to chase death. She did not understand, he’d said, and he was right. She did not understand, and he did not want her to. He had shut her out, and in the moment, she had felt his betrayal keenly as any blade. She envied his vast world which extended far beyond the castle walls. She had raged at it and shrank from it, but it changed nothing.

He would not stay. Every second that he spent with her, he was already leaving.

The days were long, but getting shorter. The heat slipped out of the air. Above her, the evening sky grew gray and soft. The moon came up, a waning white peach, then the stars. From the grass, the bright, cold sound of crickets.

Night again. She had never cared for darkness, how her body seemed to disappear into it. And it was bad for reading. How many of these dull hours had she endured? Her memory was only twenty years long, but her bones felt older. How many dark nights awaited her? No matter their number, they would pass her by, as they always did. As everything would.

Him, too.

But she would be here still. Growing older. For what?

She hugged her arms tight around her knees. He had actually left. Finally, her life could continue on, as it had before. But she didn’t think she could bear it now.

If only he had not come here.

If only he had stayed.

Dawn came, then melted into a rich morning. The birds announced their waking, busying the air with their wings. A doe wandered into the courtyard, nosed a patch of white clover, then moved on. The world around the castle was vibrant with life, but she was numb to it. She had seen it all before, and she would see it again. And again, and again.

Then at noon, the unexpected. The impossible. A rider heading toward the castle. She felt the risen stir in confusion—shouldn’t they do something about this? They waited for her command, but she gave none. Her thoughts tumbled over each other, and her heart filled with a heavy hope.

_It wasn’t. It wasn’t. It wasn’t._

But what if it was?

The sound of hooves beating the earth, then the horse emerged from the trees. Its coat was sleek brown, almost red in the sun. And atop the horse, a man. She could hardly bear look at him. Neither could she look away.

The man pulled down his hood, his face upturned to her.

It was him.

“You came back.”

“I did.”

Robin laughed, the sound full of air. She touched his face, as if making sure he was not some apparition after all.

“You’re not hurt? You’re in one piece?”

“I’m fine. I’m alright.”

Frederick watched as Robin’s smile slowly vanished. A fragile hardness returned to her face.

“Why did you come back?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Are you a fool? I told you—”

“I got a horse.”

“What?”

“A horse. That was what I left for.”

He gestured toward the mare, which thankfully had not spooked when Robin tackled him. It had trotted into a shady spot closer to the castle, shaking the sweat from its mane. Robin glanced at the horse, then back at him.

“But I…I told you to…”

“To leave?”

She winced, but nodded.

“Well, I did not mean to disrespect your wishes,” he said. “And if you still feel that way, then I will go. But first, I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Whatever anger she had mustered vanished. Now, she just looked bewildered.

“Yes. I am sorry, Robin. What I said was cruel, and I know you were only worried for me. I should not have lashed out like that. You are no coward.”

Frederick was not sure what he expected, but it was not for her to look so pained. She did not respond.

“Robin?” he said after a while. “You are sitting on my ribs.”

She got off of him wordlessly, and he sat up, brushing the dirt from his back. She would not look at him.

“Are you alright?” he asked. She shook her head.

“You make things difficult.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” she said, her voice miserable. “Don’t say that. Why do you say things I do not understand? All you do is confuse me. You should not have come back!”

“Did you not want me to come back?”

“I did,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter, don’t you see? You’ll just leave again anyway. So I don’t need an apology. I don’t need anything.”

Robin appeared shrunken, her back bent, her coat pulled tight around her. His chest ached seeing her like that, her pride straining against a cage of grief. Had he done this? He had not meant to.

“Do you want me to leave?” Frederick asked gently. She shook her head again.

“Stop. Don’t ask me that.”

“Robin.”

“I…” She struggled, as if the words were live things kicking in her throat. And in her throat he thought they would die. But they didn’t.

“I want you to stay,” she whispered. “Please stay.”

A warm feeling bloomed in his chest. For the moment, it was everything. It was enough.

“Then I will,” he said.

“You will?” Robin looked up at him, startled.

“Yes. But I cannot stay here.”

“Then—”

He reached out, brushing his hand against hers.

“Come with me, Robin.”

“You _are_ mad!” she cried, pulling away from him. “You could not say such things otherwise.”

“I am not mad. Listen. You said yourself that my quest is dangerous, and you’re right. I am but one man, and if I go, I may be hunted by the very armies I served with. But I would fear nothing if you were with me.”

“And your prince and princess? You would bring them the dragon that stole their home?” Robin asked.

“They would accept you,” he said. “I’m certain of it. After all, I did, and they are quicker to build trust than I. And I would be with you.”

Robin seemed almost ready to believe him. She looked as if she wanted to. But doubt clouded her face again.

“This is a trick. You want to lure me out of the castle so you can take it for yourself.”

“You know that is not true,” he said.

“I know.” Her voice was forlorn. “But I do not know what else to think.”

“It is that difficult for you to leave?”

She grimaced and pulled her coat even tighter around herself.

“It is, though I know it shouldn’t be. There is nothing out there that can hurt me more than I could hurt it. But I have never…”

She pursed her lips into a bitter smile.

“You were right,” she said. “I am a coward. I always have been. The world is too big for me, and I am too weak to face it.”

“Robin…”

He wanted to deny it. But that would be a weightless, easy assurance. She would not hear it. She would only shrink from him further.

“The world is big,” he said instead. “But you would not have to face it alone. Can you trust me?”

“I would like to.”

“Then come with me, at least to Ylisstol. We can return here after, and you’ll never have to leave this castle again if you so choose. I cannot tell you what to choose. All I can do is ask. But I am asking.”

She shut her eyes and drew in a breath, exhaling thick smoke. He waited, hoping she would agree, but steeling himself for rejection. Finally, she opened her eyes.

“‘I don’t want to be afraid any longer.’ That was what you said when you asked me to become a dragon, was it not?”

Robin turned to him, not quite smiling. She looked deeply tired. But there was something else, some glimmer of her usual strength.

“I don’t want to be afraid any longer, either,” she said. “I will go with you to Ylisstol.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a serious chapter dedicated to Robin's serious feelings, but all I can think about is the "no talk me im angy" meme.


	11. "Hold me tight and fear me not."

“I hate it,” Robin declared, not for the first time that day. She was fussing with her clothes again, tugging at the belt Frederick had chosen for her. At this rate, she was likely to tear something.

“You do not have to wear the belt, and you do not have to wear the shoes until we reach Ylisstol,” he said, placing a bundle of firewood in the small wagon. He was past the point of arguing with her and itching to get on the road. “But you might try to get used to them.”

Robin ignored his suggestion and immediately began fumbling with her belt buckle. Frederick sighed. He had been rather proud of the outfit he’d picked for her. He had scoured the castle for clothes that were neither too flashy or plain, and he thought the result was respectable. But the look somewhat fell apart without the belt.

“Can’t I wear my coat at least?” Robin asked, kicking off her shoes.

“You’re wearing a coat.”

“But it’s not _my_ coat. The one I always wear.”

“Well, you happened to pick the one thing in the castle with a Plegian design. So unless you want to draw every eye in the capital, no, you may not.”

“Plegian?” Her brow furrowed briefly in confusion. “Oh, right. That kingdom you burned.”

Frederick grimaced. Her words disturbed him, but when he began to say something, he found that he could not. He finished loading the wagon in silence, a clay-like feeling in his stomach.

It was a few days’ journey to Ylisstol, and he had packed accordingly—waterskins for himself and the horse, a flat bread made from salvaged flour, fish packed in salt, firewood, a tarp in case of rain, maps, blankets, coin for the inn, and silverware to trade if the coin ran out. And of course, the thing his thin plan hinged on. The sack’s worth of sugar he had found tucked away in the kitchen, which he had re-bagged into coin purses and hidden among folded shirts in a trunk.

“Are you ready?” he asked Robin.

“No. Yes. As ready as I can be,” She was plucking at the fabric of her sleeve and absentmindedly breathing smoke.

“You won’t be able to do that in the capital,” he said, waving the smoke from his face.

“I know. Just—” She stole a quick glance over her shoulder. “I’m just getting it out of my system.”

Robin grabbed one of the blankets and climbed into the front of the wagon. She wrapped the blanket around her so that it covered her face.

“You’re going to ride like that?” Frederick asked.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice muffled by wool. “At least for the first part of the journey. It will be easier if I cannot turn back to see the castle, I think. Will you tell me when it is gone?”

He nodded, then realized she could not see him.

“Yes,” he said.

He made his final checks to the wagon and they set off, Robin shuddering as the wheels lurched them forward. She began to hum to herself, not a song so much as notes strung together as necessary. A noise louder than her doubts.

They rode through the woods, then the empty city, heading east toward Ylisstol. It was a hot day, and damp as a mouth. Beneath the wheels, the ground steamed from that morning’s brief rainfall. Every small breeze was a mercy.

They went slowly. The roads had not been kept, and they stopped every so often to let the mare rest and have a drink of water. It was not until mid-afternoon, with the city hours behind them, that the burnt tower sunk below the tree line.

“You can look now,” Frederick said.

Robin peered out from the blanket. Her face was pale, and were she human, he would have thought her motion sick. She made a sound between a whimper and a scoff, but she did not retreat back under the blanket. She simply glared at the landscape.

“How are you faring?” he asked.

“I do not care for this,” she said. “It feels like there are wasps in my blood.”

“That sounds unpleasant.”

“It is.”

She had stopped humming, and they sat in silence save for the sound of wheels and hoofbeats on soft earth. The land around them was flat and lush with grasses and wildflowers. Low shrubs grew, but few trees except for a spattering of aspens in the distance. A river there, he thought. He could refill the waterskins.

Something darted to his left—a hawk chasing its prey. Its talons came up empty, and the bird climbed back into the sky. Robin watched its ascent, almost unblinking.

“You could fly,” Frederick suggested. “There is no one around, and it might help you feel better.”

Robin was quiet for some time. Considering it, he thought.

“I do not fly,” she finally said.

“I thought you could,” he said, remembering her six wings. “Your father could fly.”

“I _can_ fly,” Robin clarified. “I have flown before, once or twice. But I don’t. The sky is…it is too big.”

“But you see the sky all the time. Is it not the same size?”

“It is one thing to see it and another to be in it. It’s overwhelming, all that air. It goes on forever. It is terrible.”

Still, her eyes remained fixed to the hawk.

They made camp at dusk near a small grove of aspens. Robin breathed a fire for them, and Frederick ate his supper of salted fish and bread while the mare grazed languidly nearby. The sun set and the fireflies came out, blinking their faint light above the grass. He watched as one floated near Robin. She raised her hand up, and the firefly landed briefly on her wrist. She was calmer now, although she still wore the blanket draped around her. Some of the stiffness had gone out of her shoulders, and she seemed to regard her surroundings with less disdain than before.

“I read that Ylisseans used to think that fireflies were the ghosts of fallen warriors, and that they could be found wandering the battlefields they died upon. Is that true?” she asked.

“That sounds familiar,” he said. “It is bad luck to kill a firefly.”

“Humans are so quick to impose their humanity on others,” Robin remarked, shaking the firefly off her arm. “You see your souls in bugs, birds, anything.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked. “I don’t think it is. I think it makes us look upon other creatures kindly. We recognize the light in them.”

“Yes. But not always. Sometimes it works the other way, doesn’t it? You see an imperfect image of yourself, and call it not light, but darkness. It troubles you. You want to correct it, by force if necessary, or drive it out. And if you cannot do that, you want to destroy it. Knowing what you are capable of, you fear destruction in kind.”

Their eyes met, and Robin shrugged.

“That’s my observation, at least,” she said. “But I am no expert on humans.”

They sat in silence for some time. Frederick stared into the fire, his thoughts wrestling inside him. The clay-like feeling again. The closer they came to Ylisstol, the stronger it grew.

“I did not burn Plegia,” he said abruptly. “I had no part in that.”

“What?” Robin asked.

“You said so this morning. You said that I burned it.”

“Did I?” Robin considered that. “I suppose I did. But I’m sure I did not mean _you_ specifically.”

“I know.”

“Yet you felt the need to address it.”

“No. Only to clarify.”

She studied him, her eyes canny with firelight. He found it difficult to look at her.

“I thought it curious for so few books to mention Plegia when it was the focus of so many maps,” she mused. “It was intentional, wasn’t it? Whatever happened, it must have been bad.”

“I was not there.”

“But you know, don’t you?” Robin’s voice was firm and lacking in judgment. “What happened, Frederick?”

He stood. He walked to the wagon to fetch more firewood. He tossed a gnarled branch into the fire. Sat again.

“You will not tell me?” Robin asked.

“It is not my place to tell,” he answered, his voice stiff. “And how would I tell of it? I have never told it before. I know only the outline of things.”

“That is still more than I know.”

“Nothing good comes from knowing,” he insisted. “But perhaps you ought to know something of it before we reach Ylisstol. It may be safer if you know, though not too much. That way, you won’t have to ask. But how do I tell it?”

“From the beginning,” Robin suggested patiently.

Frederick nodded. That was the sensible thing to do. But words came haltingly and accompanied by dread. Although there was no one to do so, he felt he would be reprimanded. From an early age, he had known it was traitorous to speak of such things openly, although the older knights never explained why. The did not have to. But Robin’s interest was innocent. She was not seeking to trick him into saying something he shouldn’t. She simply liked to know things.

“The king, the prince’s father, sought to expand the kingdom,” he began. “He was young then, newly crowned and reckless, and times were hard. Ylisse had come out of a drought, and people were hungry. I think…I’d like to think that mattered to him.

“The king coveted a valley. It was fertile, with a river running through it. But it belonged to Plegia. People lived there, farmed there. So he started a war.

“Plegia fought tooth and nail for that valley. It was valuable farmland for a country covered by so much desert, and it was on the border between the two kingdoms. They knew that if they lost it, they stood to lose much more. They were right about that.

“The valley burned for months. So many people died for that strip of land, and by the time Ylisse took it, it was damaged as to be uninhabitable. The whole purpose of the war had been to farm there, and in the end, the king could deliver nothing. At that steep price, it could not be called a victory.”

He paused, rubbing his hands together. It was a mild night, but his fingers were cold.

“The king could have acknowledged the waste and ended things there,” Frederick continued. “The valley would have recovered, as it did after a few years. But the king could not accept that Ylisse had sacrificed so much for so little, and he rightly expected retaliation. So he had the army march on Plegia. From what I have heard, he wanted to take the throne. It was…an ill-conceived idea.”

“Foolish, you mean,” Robin said. He took a deep breath.

“Yes,” he admitted, and felt lighter for it. “The campaign was doomed from the start. Too much had been exhausted fighting over one valley. Realistically, Ylisse had no chance of marching on the capital. But the king would not see that. He sorely needed a win. What he got was a bloody stalemate.

“The army burned the Plegian countryside. Villages and temples were sacked, went up in flames. But the army was not prepared to fight in the desert. Soldiers died from thirst as well as wounds. There were stories of cavalry killing their horses to drink their blood. And the Plegian forces dug in. They attacked sporadically and swiftly, loosing a barrage of spells and retreating across the sand before any counterattack could be launched. They evacuated villages before the Ylissean army could reach them, burning them to the ground to keep the soldiers from taking shelter there.

“From all accounts, it was miserable. It was hell. And the king kept sending soldiers. There was a whole year of this before the nobles prevailed on him to retreat. It was their sons and daughters who were the generals killing and dying to do little more than chip away at Plegia’s borders.

“The army retreated, and there were thousands dead and little territory gained. But it did not end there. Plegia wanted to retake the land it had lost. There were battles at the border that dragged on for weeks at a time without ground lost or gained. Ylisse was able to hold the land, but even now, Plegia sends brigands across the border to disrupt the settlers there.

“The war ended, but the damage was done. To the people of Ylisse, the king not only looked like a fool, but a butcher as well. To the nobles, he was a weak leader who might one day send Ylisse to its ruin. It was the first defining moment of his reign, and a terrible one.”

“And was I the second?” Robin asked.

“Yes, actually. Your father attacked the castle within a year of the war’s end. Although most folk no longer worship dragons, many could not help but see it as divine retribution. It was a blow that the crown never fully recovered from.”

“I see,” Robin said. She leaned back, look sated. “We were an insult to the king’s injury. No wonder he wanted me dead. Thank you, Frederick, for telling me that, though it was an unfortunate story.”

He nodded. It was terrible to speak of terrible things. And yet, having said them, he felt better than he thought he would. He did not feel like a traitor at all.

“It was a war that should not have been fought,” he admitted at last. “It was a great shame to Ylisse.”

“Are you ashamed?”

“I am not proud of what happened. But I was a child then.”

“And yet you served the king.”

“I served his children. It was…things would have been different with them. I am certain of it. They would never have done such things.”

Robin said nothing, her face betraying no opinion. The night had deepened as he spoke. The sky was dense with clouds and starless. A breeze swept over the fields, carrying the fragrance of grass and stirring the fireflies.

“What happened to Plegia?” Robin asked finally. “Did they rebuild their villages after the war? Did they recover?”

“I do not know,” Frederick said. “Perhaps they did. But we have not had ambassadors from Plegia since even before the war.”

“Oh,” Robin said, disappointed. She let her gaze fall into the fire and pulled the blanket over her, which had started to slip from her shoulders. “I hope they did. They made beautiful coats.”

After three days’ travel, they arrived at the high gates of Ylisstol. They approached the checkpoint into the city, and Frederick felt Robin shudder next to him.

“Ready for this?” he asked. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. As much as he would have liked to reassure her, he felt just as anxious. He pulled his hood up and hoped that his luck held.

The gatekeepers were young and bored, by the look of it. More importantly, they were no one Frederick recognized. After a quick glance in the back of the wagon, they let them through without trouble. Frederick breathed a sigh of relief. Robin did not.

The city opened up to them, vast and splendid, though less imposing than the old capital’s dense stone. The air was heavy with the scent of close living. Buildings rose several stories and had elegant sloping roofs tiled with slate shingles. Many had painted walls, either gleaming white or a pale blue in emulation of the royal colors. The streets were wide, paved with cobbled stone, and lively with people.

Perched at the center of it all was the eastern palace, glittering with glass and steel. Frederick’s gaze was immediately drawn to it. He let his eyes linger for a moment, then looked back at the road.

“There are so many people,” Robin said. She sat very stiffly, her eyes darting between these strange faces.

“They will not hurt you.”

“Because they do not know what I am.”

“Because they are not fighters,” he said. “These people only want to live their lives in peace. Most have never held a sword and never will.”

“Oh.” She looked over the crowd, her posture still tense. “Will I…will I hurt them?”

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Then you won’t,” he said firmly.

“You sound so sure…”

Frederick paid to stable the horse and wagon in the entertainment district, bringing the trunk with him.

“There is an inn I know nearby,” he told Robin. “We will stay there.”

Robin nodded, but she seemed to hardly hear him. She was distracted by the bustle of the streets, the people and the colors of their clothes. Her gaze was distant, focused on nothing.

“Are you alright?” Frederick asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” she said, her voice faint. It was difficult to believe. But while she seemed dazed, at least she did not appear to be afraid.

“Stay close,” he said.

As they walked, the entertainment district began to wake up around them. The lamps were lit, and streets filled, then bloated with people seeking an evening of fun. One already inebriated party traipsed by, shouldering a cask between them and attempting to harmonize a song. A barker dressed in gaudy clothes extolled a theater troupe’s performance of an old epic about the hero king. Outside a tavern, a woman was selling sticks of roasted lamb. Frederick felt someone jostle his shoulder, and a giggling couple hurried past, headed for an inn.

“It is not far now,” he said. He turned to address Robin, but she was not there.

His heart dropped.

“Robin?” Frederick called, pushing his way back through the crowd. In his panic, his mind spun ridiculous scenarios. Had she gotten lost? Could she have been kidnapped?

But of course she hadn’t. He found her a couple blocks back, curled against a wall on the side of the street, her hood pulled down tight over her head.

“Robin!”

He knelt beside her, and she looked up at him, her eyes wild with terror. Her breath came in shuddering gasps, and a thread of smoke escaped her lips.

“There is too much,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can’t do it. I am going to burn.”

“You will not burn,” he said as calmly as he could manage. He touched her shoulder and could feel her body heat through her clothes.

“I’m going to burn,” she repeated, her fingers tightening in the fabric of her coat. “I’m going to burn everything.”

“You won’t,” he said. “Robin, you won’t do that.”

“I will. I can’t do this. I—” She clutched at his sleeve, her grip desperate. “Help me,” she asked.

Frederick pulled her to his chest. He held her as tight as he could, to comfort and restrain her both, though the latter he could only do if she let him. It was like holding a flame in his arms.

“You will not burn,” he said again, willing it to be true.

A strangled sound escaped her throat, and Robin pressed her face into his shoulder. He could feel her frenzied heartbeat, her hands clinging sharp to his back.

“Your claws are out,” he told her gently.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You are not going hurt me. You are not going to hurt anyone.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head.

Slowly her fingers blunted. Her blood seemed to thrash within her, but she did not burn, and neither did he. She did not burst into scales and wings. She did not spit fire over the city. She simply clung to him and breathed, holding the fire in her chest.

He held her through the ebb and flow of her panic. People passed them by, some concerned, others not. But no one disturbed them with more than words, and he was grateful for the city’s benevolent indifference.

After what felt like an eternity, Robin’s grip loosened from his back. Her breathing grew even, her heartbeat, steady. Frederick helped her to her feet.

“You’re alright,” he said, and she nodded.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, almost burnt. She was trembling slightly, and she looked exhausted. But her eyes had regained their usual clarity.

Frederick tucked the trunk under one arm. He held his free hand out to Robin.

“Let us go,” he said. And when she took his hand, they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, going outside is stressful now.


	12. Rest

The inn was called “The Honeysuckle.” It was a tall establishment, though somewhat worse for wear, with the eponymous vine growing on a trellis against its walls. However, the fragrance of the slender flowers was cut with the sour scent of beer and other fluids. From outside, they could hear the shrill voice of a flute and the cheer of a crowd.

“We’re staying here?” Robin asked.

“Yes,” Frederick said.

Robin frowned. Her earlier panic had exhausted her, and she was in need of rest. Still, she eyed the building with suspicion. As they approached the door, a man burst out and was promptly sick in the gutter.

“Oh,” Robin said. She glanced at Frederick, expecting an explanation.

“He’s fine. He’s only had too much to drink.”

They watched as the man gathered himself up, wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, and stumbled back inside.

“This is normal?” Robin asked, incredulous. “Do you come here often?”

“I wouldn’t say it is normal, but it is not unusual. But I’ve only come here once, purely on business.”

“Ah. Then I have had the wrong idea of what it is knights do.”

“You must be feeling better if you are capable of teasing me,” Frederick said. “But it is not what you think. A certain…bad influence brought Prince Chrom here a few years ago. I merely followed them to prevent anything untoward from happening.”

“And did anything ‘untoward’ happen?”

“Only within reason.”

“And they won’t recognize you?”

“I doubt it,” he said. “But it is a necessary risk. Unfortunately, that ‘bad influence’ is also my contact.”

Inside, the floor was crowded with people and tables that had been pushed aside for dancing. A band played, enthusiastically if not elegantly, and the air shook with the drumming of feet. The room was generous with candlelight, which gleamed off the dancers’ flushed faces, the tankards held aloft, the buttered hunks of bread.

Next to him, Robin sucked in a sharp breath. Her hand tightened around his, and she drew nearer to him, their shoulders brushing.

“Is this alright?” he asked. “Do you need to go back outside?”

“No. I’m fine,” Robin said. “There are just…so many people here.”

Frederick nodded, then squeezed her hand in encouragement. They pushed their way across the dance floor to the bar, avoiding the best they could the hazards of a crushed foot or an upturned tankard.

“Evening,” the barkeep greeted them. He was a man no longer in his youth, with a face soft with mirth and eyes quick with cunning, adept at spotting trouble. Those quick eyes looked them over while his mouth stretched into a wide smile. “What can I get for the two of you?”

“A room, if you please,” Frederick said.

“Staying with us, then? Wonderful, wonderful. How many nights?”

“A week to start.”

“To start?” The barkeep was a professional. He did not let surprise or suspicion cloud his face. “Sure, we can put you up for a week. From out of town, are you? Here on business?”

“My affairs are my own,” Frederick said quickly. Immediately, he knew it was a mistake.

“Of course,” the barkeep said. “Didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Didn’t mean to pry. But sir, certainly there’s no need to wear a hood among friends, don’t you think? ‘Specially if you’re staying a week with us.”

“I—”

He was caught. To lower his hood would allow anyone to get a clear look at his face. But he could not refuse without arousing further suspicion. Hesitation, too, was suspicious, yet he found himself frozen.

Suddenly, Robin shouldered her way in front of him.

“Yes, let the man see your face!” she declared loudly enough to turn a couple of heads at the bar. She looped her arms around his neck, grinning coquettishly as she all but hung off him. Any idea Frederick might have had to talk his way out of this situation was immediately obliterated. He blushed furiously.

“You’re not embarrassed to be seen with me, are you?” Robin continued. “After you neglected me for so long? What did you tell her this time—that you’re off on business for a week? Maybe more if the road is hard?”

Frederick could not even stammer a response. He looked at the barkeep, whose face was a mirror of his own amazement. Then the barkeep threw back his head with a roar of laughter.

“Aye, alright,” the barkeep said. “A room for the week, then. And you let me know if those ‘roads’ are ‘hard.’” He reached below the counter, then passed Robin a key. “Third floor, second door to your left.”

Frederick paid for their room, still reeling as he guided Robin to a staircase. On the second landing was a couple who were…deeply absorbed with one another. Frederick felt his blush rise up again, and he quickly pulled Robin past.

“What was that?” he asked as soon as the door to their room had closed behind them.

“ _Ribald Tales of the Faith War_ , book two, chapter seven,” Robin replied, flopping down onto the wide bed.

“The tales of what?”

“It was in the library. On a rather high shelf.”

Ah. He had not expected to learn so much about the late queen’s taste in literature.

“Well, thank you, Robin. It was a very…skillful manipulation.”

“Oh, it wasn’t hard,” she said. “From what I’ve read, humans are shy about sex in most situations. Drop a hint of it, and they jump to their own conclusions.”

“…Noted.”

“You really are a poor liar, though,” Robin continued. “I’m glad I did not let you come alone.”

Suddenly, she sat upright, her eyes narrowed.

“Do you smell that?” she asked, leaping off the bed before he could respond. She began to sniff the air, then ducked down to look under the bed. He had not expected her to have such energy. Her movements were quick, but fragile, and in her darting search she resembled a hummingbird more than her namesake.

Frederick put the trunk down while Robin turned their room over. He supposed it did smell a little off in here, somewhat musty. They had rented a modestly sized room, furnished with a table, lantern, two wooden chairs, a basin, and even a small mirror. Only one bed, Frederick noted, then pushed that thought aside. It did not matter—Robin did not sleep. More importantly, there were street-facing windows, which he opened to air out the room.

“Found it!” Robin declared. She had managed to shimmy her way up into the rafters, and she held up her hand in triumph. In it was some dark lump.

“What is it?”

She jumped down, faltering slightly on the landing. But before he could voice his concern, she held her discovery out to him. Frederick recoiled.

“A dead rat,” he said.

“Yes!”

Robin did not seem to notice his disgust. Rather, she seemed thrilled at finding a dead thing in their room. She cupped the gray body between her hands and whispered a string of words in a tongue Frederick could not understand. When she opened her hands, the rat twitched with false life, blinking its dead eyes at him.

“You made a risen of it?” he asked. She shot him an incredulous look, as if it was foolish to think there was anything else to be done with a dead rat.

“It is useful to have an extra pair of eyes looking out for us,” she said. She set the rat down, and it scampered back into the rafters, where it peered at them with eerie patience.

“You did not see your contact downstairs?” Robin asked, sitting back on the edge of the bed. She bounced her leg restlessly, unable, it seemed, to keep still.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. After what had happened, her energy was alarming. It seemed hollow.

“I’m fine,” she said, breezing over his worry. “Tell me about your contact. What was his name again? Gray?”

“Gaius,” Frederick said, pulling up a chair for himself. “And no, I did not see him.”

“Then we’re just supposed to wait here?”

“He used to frequent this place quite often. He said they made the best—”

Through the wall they heard a sudden cry followed by a low murmur. Robin startled, her posture tightening like a bowstring. Frederick merely brought a hand to his face. As he expected, the sound of shaking furniture bled through the wall, punctuated by moans.

“…Anyhow, if he was not killed or captured, I expect that he’ll return here,” Frederick continued, determined to ignore what was happening in the adjacent room. Robin seemed less keen to do so.

“Robin, you don’t have to—”

But it was too late. She raised her fist and pounded against the wall. The sounds stopped for a moment, then resumed with more intensity than before. Robin frowned. He had tried to warn her.

“Don’t mind it,” he told her. “They’ll be done soon.”

With luck.

“I think I shall have supper downstairs,” he said, standing. “I’ll see if Gaius stops in tonight.”

“I’ll come with you,” she offered.

“I think you should rest,” he said. “You must be tired from…from earlier.”

“I don’t sleep,” she reminded him. “I am a dragon.”

“That doesn’t mean you cannot rest. That doesn’t mean you cannot be tired.”

Robin seemed about to object, about to jump up and insist that she join him. But she stopped herself. Her weariness was plain. She lay down on top of the covers, folded her hands deliberately, and stared up into the rafters.

“Don’t be too long,” she said.

The ground floor of the inn was still packed, and perhaps even rowdier than when they’d first arrived. But Frederick did not spy Gaius among the crowd.

“Back again so soon?” the barkeep asked. “Your lady not with you?” He spoke jovially now, and without the pretense of politeness. Robin was right—the man had certainly come to his own conclusions.

“She’s settling in,” Frederick said. “Are you still serving supper? We have had a long day.”

“And a long night ahead of you, eh? Need to keep your energy up.”

Yes, he had _certainly_ come to his own conclusions.

“Er, right.” Frederick cleared his throat. “I heard you’re famous for your honey cakes. Do you still make those?”

“You heard right. As to whether we can make them, well, not so much as we used to. Damn honey’s so expensive these days.” The barkeep shook his head. “Well, it’s not as expensive as sugar, of course. Have to look on the bright side of things, right? At least we’re not a patisserie.”

“You’ve stopped making them, then?”

“Not quite, but we only sell them on Wednesdays now. There’s still enough of a demand for ‘em, and some customers are willing to pay for the finer things in life. You’re interested, I take it?”

“Quite.”

“Then you check with me in a couple of days and maybe I’ll have something for you.”

Bowls were brought from the kitchen—two portions of chicken roasted in savory herbs, a bean salad, and potatoes. After three days of bland bread and salted fish, it smelled delicious. He forced himself to savor the food, taking his time and keeping an eye on the door. Though he doubted Gaius would come if there weren’t honey cakes.

As he looked over the crowd, it dawned on Frederick that he had really returned to Ylisstol. He had known that, of course, when they had passed through the city’s gates. However, only now did the full weight of that knowledge sink in. Months ago, the prospect of it had seemed impossible. He’d known that he was not meant to return, and that no one expected him to. And yet he had. He had come home.

He felt less than he thought he would.

It was not that he was unmoved. It was comforting to see familiar sights and to know that life in the capital had gone on. It was unsettling, too. He had not wanted Ylisstol to struggle, but it was strange how normal everything seemed despite the loss of the royal family. His own life had been fundamentally altered. That did not appear to be the case for everyone else. There were still parties. People still danced and coupled. If they grieved for the kingdom or resented the new council, they did not do so publicly.

He had come home, but it was his home no longer, Frederick thought. He could not wear his name openly here. He could not walk these streets without being a trespasser. Sitting there within the capital’s walls, his exile felt more palpable than when his fellow knights had left him for dead upon the dragon’s doorstep.

He lingered until there was a lull in the dancing, then returned upstairs. Mercifully, their neighbors had finished their activities for the night. Though muffled music and chatter rose through the floorboards, it was relatively quiet. Robin was curled on the bed, her back to the door. She did not stir when he entered the room, and Frederick wondered if she had fallen asleep after all.

“Robin?” he said quietly. She turned to look at him, awake but bleary-eyed. The day’s fatigue had finally caught up to her.

“I’ve brought you something to eat,” he said. “If you want to eat, that is. It’s quite good.”

“Later.”

He placed her bowl on the table and pulled out a chair for himself when he noticed Robin was looking at him still. He crossed the room and sat tentatively on the side of the bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“You’re still worried about me?” Robin smirked.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She blinked up at him. “I’m fine, really. You should worry about yourself.”

“You sound like Chrom,” he laughed. “Unfortunately, I’m quite skilled at worrying about others. A professional, in fact.”

Robin smiled, then stretched leisurely, the mattress bowing beneath her.

“It’s comfortable,” she mused. “But I did not mean to take the bed from you. I was more tired than I realized.”

“You may rest longer, if you’d like. I do not need to sleep right away.”

“Thank you,” she said. “And thank you for…for today. I have never done that before.”

“Burn, you mean?”

“No. I have felt that way before. I have burned. But I…I had never asked for help before. There was no one to ask.”

She spoke lightly enough, but her words weighed heavy on Frederick’s heart. How desolate, he thought. How sad. She should not have had to be alone.

“I’m glad I was there to help,” Frederick said, though it was not everything he meant. He was not sure exactly what he meant. But for now, it was enough.

Robin reached out, brushing the back of her fingers against his wrist. He let her hand slide beneath his, let her lace her fingers between his own. She was warm. He had grown used to her warmth, he realized.

“Your hands feel nice,” Robin murmured. “I had forgotten that human hands could feel so nice.”

They sat in silence awhile, their hands joined. Robin’s breathing grew deep, though still she remained awake. Frederick watched the steady rise and fall of her shoulder. Outside, the world roared with life, with people and their doings both great and small, virtuous and vile. But in this room, in this moment, there was stillness. The two of them simply existed comfortably together. Resting.

It was an uncomplicated and clean feeling, like drinking deeply from a well, the water cold and rich. At first, Frederick did not recognize it, so long had it been since he’d felt it. Then he did.

He was happy.

After some time, Robin sighed and untangled her hand from his. She rose from the bed, and he could see that her strength had returned to her. She looked solid.

“Sleep,” she told him. “I will keep watch.”

Frederick nodded, her warmth still lingering against his palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can have a little "and there was only one bed," as a treat.


	13. Sweetness

Wednesday was two days off. Which meant they had two days before Gaius was likely to come to the inn. If he came at all. If he was alive.

Well, if anyone could slip through the Council’s net, it was Gaius. Holding the thief was like holding water with bare hands. It seemed there was no lock he could not pick, nor any situation he could not talk his way out of. While he had been in the Shepherd’s employ, these skills were demonstrated through filching sugar from the kitchen and weaseling his way out of training sessions. Still, Frederick could not deny Gaius’s talents, even if he had often put them to aggravating use. He could get the information he needed.

The issue was, as usual, one of trust. Gaius’s connection with the Shepherds had been more than a little mercenary, and while Chrom and Lissa had grown fond of him, Frederick had remained wary. It was not that the man was immoral. Gaius had loyalties. But the priority of those loyalties was negotiable.

Frederick had little in the way of power here, which meant he had to rely on trust. A tricky business, that. At least he would not be entering negotiations empty handed.

Until then, they had two days spend in Ylisstol. Frederick would have been content to lay low at the inn, but Robin was growing antsy. She had spent her entire remembered life in a castle and was used to having more room to roam than this. She sat statue-like at the window all morning, peering intently down at the street until he suggested they take a walk. In any case, no matter what the barkeep thought they were up to, it would be unrealistic for them to stay cloistered in their room for an entire week, right?

Their excursion was limited to the entertainment district. Here, it was not unusual for people to don the anonymity of a hood, and while members of the guard were stationed around the district, their numbers were few and their enforcement lax. People came here to have a good time and behave poorly, including persons of high birth. So long as no one staged an armed insurrection, the guard did little more than make the rounds. And Frederick was not planning to do that. Not this time.

Despite her eagerness to leave the inn, Robin was still skittish about the outside. The entertainment district was sleepier by day than by night. Still, the crowds and the city’s clamor would have been overwhelming even to a country villager, let alone someone who had lived twenty years in solitude. Robin did not retreat into herself as she had before, but she moved cautiously, more cautious even than him, her body all tense. She seemed determined to navigate the streets without bumping shoulders with anyone, as if doing so would cause their bones to shatter.

“Would you like to go back?” he asked after an hour of her fitful wandering. But she seemed affronted by his suggestion.

“Why would I want that?”

“This seems stressful for you.”

“Nonsense,” Robin said, then all but leapt out of the way of a child running from his mother. Frederick said nothing, but she shot him a look all the same.

“I can handle this,” she insisted. “What happened yesterday will not happen again. I can—”

Robin dropped her sentence abruptly, her eyes growing wide. She tugged his sleeve, then pointed.

“ _Is that a cow_?” she asked breathily. He turned and saw a tall woman leading an ox hitched to a cart piled high with bales of hay. A bit of an odd sight in the city. Resupplying the district’s stable, perhaps.

“It is an ox,” he said. “The difference is—”

But Robin did not care to hear it. She was already running down the street toward the woman and her ox.

Oh dear.

He chased after her before she could…well, he was not sure what. She only walked next to the beast. Although Robin had been indifferent to the mare he had bought, she seemed enthralled by this ox, her face lit with wonderment. The animal did not appear spooked at least, nor its mistress, who seemed quick to chalk up Robin’s behavior to the odd ways of cityfolk.

“Can I pet your cow?” Robin asked before Frederick could usher her away. The woman shrugged, and Robin ran a hand down the ox’s velvety neck.

“Look, Frederick,” she cooed as she continued to pet the ox. “It has horns, like mine.”

It seemed a stretch to compare a dragon’s horns to that of a common ox, but he did not say so. At least Robin was calm now, her anxieties outweighed by her affection for this ox.

“Oh!” Robin gasped. The ox had licked her palm with its broad, wet tongue. She turned to Frederick almost in disbelief. Never before had the expression ‘starry-eyed’ seemed so literal to him.

The next day, Robin was emboldened. Where fear had dissipated, curiosity bloomed. She ventured off from his side, buoyed by an exploratory spirit. So long had she spent studying humans and their lives. Now she could experience it for herself.

It was good to see Robin shrug off her unease, he thought as they joined a crowd forming around a juggler. Even among all these people, she did not flinch. Like everyone else, her eyes were fixed on the blades the man tossed higher and higher.

“Why does he do that?” Robin asked as they moved on from the performance.

“For pay. And because he can, I suppose.”

“That’s what all those people gathered to see? That’s interesting to them?”

He had come to expect such strange questions from her, yet he struggled to answer. He had not before considered _why_ things held interest—they simply did or didn’t. But that answer would not satisfy Robin.

“Well, it is a skill few possess,” he said. “Most people would drop the knives immediately.”

“So they’re waiting for him to drop them,” she said knowingly. “That’s why it’s entertaining. They want to see him fail.”

“I don’t think it’s such a sadistic pleasure as that,” Frederick said. “He may fail, yes. But it’s because failure seems so likely they want to see him succeed. They want something to believe in, against the odds.”

“Hmm.” Robin kicked a stone in the road, thinking. “You actually think quite highly of people, don’t you?”

“Quite the contrary,” he laughed. “Lissa used to chide me for my unfriendliness. She said that I am too quick to assume the worst.”

“Yet you hold yourself and others to high standards.”

“I suppose.”

“Because you think they’re capable of meeting them.”

“Capable, yes,” he said. “But few do.”

“Still, that hasn’t stopped you from hoping, even if it means being disappointed sometimes.” Robin smiled slightly, her expression warm. “It is foolish, but admirable. I like that about you.”

She did?

“You should not say such things lightly,” Frederick said, careful to keep his tone casual.

“I don’t.”

“Oh.”

Their eyes met, and he saw that Robin spoke the truth. Then a small fear passed across her face, and she turned away.

“Doesn’t it frighten you?” she asked. “Hope?”

“Frighten?” He shook his head. “No. Hope is…it is a sustaining force.”

“Fatally so.”

“Sometimes. But it grips us, nevertheless. I doubt it can be mastered.”

Robin was unsatisfied with his answer, which was not much of an answer at all, but acceptance. It gave her no recourse. She slid her hands into her coat pockets, frowning as they walked.

“What is it you hope for, Robin?” Frederick asked.

“Let’s stay out a bit longer,” she said after some time. “I want to see them light the lanterns.”

Summer was slipping away from them. The air cooled sweetly, a balm for the sweat and dust of the day. Before long, that cool would turn to chill as autumn settled on Ylisstol. But for a couple weeks more, the capital would enjoy these mellow evenings.

The lanterns were lit, and the streets began to fill. They walked aimlessly with the crowd, Robin a few paces ahead of him, speaking little. Out of shyness, Frederick thought. But no, it their silence did not have that charged awkwardness. It was companionable. Contemplative.

It did not last.

“Good evening!”

The woman who stepped in front of him had bright eyes and a fair complexion, though her cheeks were slightly flushed. It was not too early to begin drinking in the entertainment district.

“Evening,” Frederick replied tersely. He tried to step around the woman, but she stepped with him, blocking his path.

“Hi,” she said, the word dissolving into a giggle.

“Yes, hello.”

A man joined the woman, draping an arm around her shoulders. He was grinning, his bright face similarly flushed.

“Hope she’s not causing you any trouble,” the man said. “You just caught our eye, is all.”

Frederick tensed. Were they thieves? Assassins? Worse, were they spies?

“Oh, now look what you’ve done. You’ve scared the gentleman,” the woman said, pushing the man playfully. “Ignore him,” she told Frederick conspiratorially. “His face is his only charm. Overall, I think you’re far more handsome.”

Well, they did not seem to be spies at least. But that did not make them any less troublesome. Judging from their clothes, the couple were from wealthy merchant families. Or they might have been dressed-down country nobles, here to enjoy the pleasures the capital offered to the young, wealthy, and attractive.

“Are you from around here?” the man asked. “You should come drinking with us! I’m buying.”

“I would prefer not to,” Frederick said, scanning the crowd for Robin. She had not gone too far ahead, but he did not want them to be separated. “Excuse me.”

“Why the rush?” the woman asked, placing a hand on his chest. “And what’s with the hood? Why hide a good face?”

She reached toward him, and Frederick recoiled. But before she could touch his hood, her hand was swatted away.

“Ow!” the woman yelped. She looked at him, her face more surprised than hurt. “Did you just _slap_ me?”

He hadn’t. But Robin had. She had appeared at his side, her rage murderous. At least her claws had not been out, thank the gods.

“Back off,” she snarled at the couple. The woman shrunk back, but her malice was lost on the man.

“Are you together?” he asked Frederick. Then he turned to Robin, grinning. “Do you want to come drinking with us? Oh, you have angry eyes. They’re cute, though. You’re really cute!”

“I’ll tear your throat out,” Robin threatened. And although the reality of that threat was lost on everyone but Frederick, it was enough for the man to stop grinning.

“Alright, you’re not interested. I get it,” he said. “You don’t have to be crazy about it.”

The woman nudged him, and they hurried off, probably to find someone else to spend the night with. Once they’d moved on, Robin turned to him, her eyes brimming with concern.

“Are you alright?” she asked urgently. “Did they ambush you? I’m sorry, I should have noticed sooner.”

“Robin, I’m fine,” he assured her. But it didn’t stop her from worrying over him.

“Were they spies? Did they see your face? Perhaps I should have killed them. It’s not too late—I can catch them.”

“You’re not killing anyone,” he said quickly. “They were not spies. They were…they were trying to proposition me.”

Robin was too startled to be relieved. She looked down the street, then back at Frederick. “Both of them?”

“It seemed so.”

“Were you interested? Should I call them back?”

He laughed then. What else could he do? A couple had attempted to entice an exiled knight into their bed, only to have their lives threatened by the dragon he’d failed to kill. It was all so absurd!

If Robin had been surprised before, she was absolutely mystified now. She had never seen him laugh like this before. He had not laughed so hard in years.

“No, I’m not interested,” he said once the laughter had passed. “Thank you, Robin. Though I did not expect you to jump to defend my honor, seeing as you’re its biggest critic.”

“Oh please,” she said, scoffing to hide her smile.

Wednesday came. The inn, which usually smelled of too many bodies, filled with a sweet, luxurious aroma. Frederick woke early to wait at the bar while the honey cakes baked. He ordered breakfast and ate slowly. He was not alone. The inn, which was usually empty in the morning, gradually filled with people. On the whole, this crowd was better dressed than the inn’s usual clientele, and they carried themselves with a scornful dignity. Some of them looked to be carriers for noble or merchant houses, and Frederick made sure to keep his face turned from them, his hood pulled down.

He waited. The honey cakes were finished, and people paid for their orders. In less than an hour, the cakes were sold out, and the crowd began to thin. No Gaius. Unease began to churn his stomach. Perhaps he would not come at all. Perhaps he was dead, as Frederick had feared. Perhaps this journey to Ylisstol had all been for naught.

But then, an opened door. The familiar shock of blazing hair.

If Gaius noticed him, he did not show it. He exchanged friendly words with the barkeep, who produced one last honey cake from underneath the bar. He paid—a substantial amount from the look of it—then crossed the room to sit at the table next to Frederick.

“I thought they had sold out of those,” Frederick said.

“They made this one special for me. Twice the honey, double the money.” Gaius bit casually into the cake. Chewed. “It’s good to see you, Captain. I thought you were dead.”

“I wish you would not call me that.” He had always found the nickname confusing, since technically Chrom had been captain of the Shepherds. But Gaius had never cared much for military hierarchy, or any other kind of hierarchy.

“You want me to use your name?” Gaius asked. “Here?”

He had a point.

“I need to talk to you,” Frederick said. “Third floor, second door on the left. Please.”

Gaius’s nod was so slight that he may have been looking down at his cake. But Frederick had seen it. He stood and went ahead to his room.

“Was he there?” Robin asked, anxious for having him out of her sight for so long. “Is he coming?”

“He was, and he is,” Frederick said. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door, and Gaius entered. He had not been surprised to see that Frederick was alive, but he did raise his eyebrow when he saw Robin.

“Hold on, you’re with him?” he asked her. Then he turned to Frederick. “She’s with you?”

“He’s with _me_ ,” Robin corrected him. Her tone was not confrontational, but it held a challenge all the same.

“This is Robin,” Frederick said. “She is my…she is a friend.”

“Wow.” Gaius looked back and forth between them. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t think you were a ladies’ man, Captain.”

Neither had he.

“Please, sit,” Frederick said, gesturing to a chair.

“Thanks, but I’d rather stand. At least until I know what I’m getting into here.”

That was fair.

“Gaius, I need your help.”

“Of course you do. Can’t imagine you’d risk exposing yourself otherwise. Aren’t you supposed to be dead? Didn’t Themis feed you to that dragon?”

“I escaped.”

“Huh. I guess even you wouldn’t be crazy enough to fight a dragon by yourself.”

Robin smirked. He ignored it.

“Gaius, I am searching for Chrom and Lissa. Have you heard anything about their whereabouts?”

“I haven’t, and I don’t want to. I like the prince and princess well enough, but I like having my head even more.”

“I see,” Frederick said. It was disappointing, but not surprising. Gaius was smart enough to keep out of trouble when that trouble held no benefit. But that did not mean he couldn’t acquire that information. “Are you still in contact with Maribelle?”

“Now wait just a minute,” Gaius said, holding up a hand. “I came up here to visit the ghost of an old friend, not to get tangled up in another power struggle. That’s above my pay grade.”

“That was not true before.”

“Well, that was before we lost. Things are different now.”

This was not news to Frederick. He knew they had lost. He had, he thought, come to terms with that truth during his time in the castle. But it was bitter to hear it spoken from a former member of the Shepherds.

“How is it different?” he asked. “What has changed?”

“For most people, not much,” Gaius replied. “The Council already handled the administration of much of the kingdom, so all that infrastructure’s stayed in place. Well, Ylisse isn’t a ‘kingdom’ anymore. ‘The Sovereignty of Ylisse,’ then. But for me personally, it’s been awful.”

“No trade from Valm,” Frederick said.

“No _sugar_ from Valm,” Gaius specified. He looked truly wistful then, as if a better era had passed them, a more virtuous era. He sighed. “It’s been months now. At first, everyone thought it was some show of solidarity, monarch to monarch. They didn’t want anything to do with king-killers. But now it seems pretty clear to me that Valm doesn’t really care that the Council killed the king. That was just an excuse to flex their influence a little, see if Ylisse would blink first. But I honestly couldn’t care less about their politicking. Well, if the Council can work a trade deal out with Plegia, then at least we might have _some_ sugar by the end of the year.”

“ _Plegia_?!”

“Oh right, you weren’t around for that. Ylisse has envoys in Plegia for the first time in what, thirty years?”

“What? How?”

“They must be curious about the people who would kill their own king,” Robin mused. “He was their common enemy, after all. The Council did what they could not in the last war.”

Gauis turned to her, impressed. “Well, aren’t you quite the schemer,” he said.

“High praise, from a thief,” Robin shot back.

“He’s told you about me, then? Only good things, I hope.”

“What does the Council hope to gain sending envoys to Plegia?” Frederick asked.

“A trading partner, for one thing,” Gaius said. “And an ally, of which the Council does not have many at the moment.”

“An alliance? After decades of bad blood? Plegia would trust the Council just for getting rid of the king?”

“You’re right. They would not. That’s why the Council’s negotiating to cede the western border pass.”

This news came as such a shock that Frederick entertained the thought that Gaius was lying, just to get a rise from him. A war had been fought for that land, and the Council was just…giving it back? Even Emmeryn had not dared to think such a thing was politically possible. But then, it would have looked hypocritical for the crown to attempt. But for the Council to do it…

Gaius was right. Things _were_ different now.

“The Council’s not doing it out of the kindness of their hearts, mind you,” Gaius continued. “They’re worried about the little empire Valm’s building. Should their warships cross the sea, the Council knows that Plegia will be a buffer to Ylisse. And Plegia wouldn’t want to be caught between two enemies. They know an alliance would mean military aid from Ylisse should it come to that. All that considered, settling past debts doesn’t sound too bad.”

That made sense, politically speaking. Emotionally, it was counterintuitive to the past three decades of Ylissean policy. After just a few months in power, the Council had undone the king’s greatest and bloodiest achievement. Frederick could not imagine the king ever allying with Plegia, no matter how threatening Valm became—the loss of face would have been too much to bear. The Council must have seen this. Was that why they had toppled the throne? Had this been their plan all along?

“But weren’t Ylissean settlers living on that land?” Robin asked. She was listening keenly, though she was not as affected by these revelations as Frederick.

“They are,” Gaius said. “And they’re not too pleased about being moved out. But are they going to rise up against the Council? The people want stability, and for now, the Council is providing that. They might fail, of course. But they haven’t yet. And it’s not like we ever actually secured that region, anyhow. Not even with the Shepherds patrolling it.”

The look Gaius gave him was not unsympathetic. But it was plain. Everything he had done, everything he had fought for, had been for nothing. Maybe worse than nothing.

“That’s what’s changed,” Gaius said.

It was funny, almost. A few months ago, this news would have devastated him. It would have felt like the loss of his entire world. And it still left him reeling. But he hadn’t lost everything. Not quite. Frederick looked at Robin. He took a deep breath.

“I am not asking you to get involved with any of that,” he said. “This is personal. I only want to find Chrom and Lissa. But I don’t know where to look. If anyone would have access to that information, it’s Maribelle. And if anyone knows how to reach her, it’s you. Please, Gaius. I know how dangerous it is. I do not ask this lightly.”

Frederick watched as Gaius agonized over this, his expression struggling between reluctance and guilt.

“Yeah, well. All my jobs are dangerous,” he finally said.

“You’ll do it?”

“I’ll try. You know she’s under house arrest, right? The Council wasn’t exactly thrilled that she helped the prince and princess escape. But Themis isn’t the kind of guy to put his own daughter in a prison. Still, it won’t be easy to get to her. It actually might be more dangerous.”

“You have broken into Lord Themis’s mansion before, have you not?”

“It didn’t go well.”

“But it can be done.”

“For a price. I don’t do favors.”

“I can pay.”

“Can you? Excuse me if I’m skeptical, but you’re not exactly on the royal payroll anymore.”

Frederick removed the trunk from under the bed, opened it, and tossed Gaius one of the sugar-filled purses. At first, Gaius didn’t seem to know what he was holding—not coin, certainly. Then his eyes went wide and he all but tore the purse open.

“What the hell?” he muttered. He tasted it, which only strengthened his disbelief. “This is real! How did you get this?”

Fredrick smiled pleasantly. He knew it was petty, but it felt good to see Gaius caught off guard for once.

“‘How’ isn’t important. What you should be asking is ‘how much?’”

“Ugh, not that face,” Gaius groaned. He turned to Robin, as if to plead for sympathy. “You’re traveling with a dangerous man, you know.”

“Am I?” she asked, her voice innocent. But she seemed pleased by Gaius’s assessment, as if he had paid her a great compliment. Her eyes flicked to him, then away, and Frederick felt his chest fill with a warmth not unlike pride.

“He’s an absolute menace,” Gaius continued. “Always pretending to be Sir Straight-and-Narrow. But look at him now, smiling like that after crawling out of hell and trying to pay me in sugar he got from who knows where.”

“Do you truly want to know?” Frederick asked. “I thought you did not want to get involved. But I could tell you, if you insist.”

Gaius’s frown deepened as he weighed temptation against risk. He shook his head.

“I’d say I’m dying to know, but that’s going too far, even for me. You’re right—the important question here is ‘how much?’”

“I have six bags more. That one is yours to keep. Think of it as a down payment.”

Gaius sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m in. What do you need me to tell Twinkles?”

“I need you to give her this,” Frederick said. He reached into his coat and hand Gaius a sealed letter. “And get her response,” he added.

“Two trips. That might take some time.”

“How long should we wait for you?”

“If I don’t check back with you in a week, assume I’m dead,” Gaius said. Then he shrugged. “Of course, if I do get intercepted, you won’t have much time before Themis’s personal guard descends on this place.”

“I am prepared for that.”

“Are you?” Gaius glanced quickly at Robin. He shrugged again. “Well, if you know the risks, it’s none of my business.” He turned back to Frederick. For a moment, his usual glibness evaporated.

“It was good seeing you again, Captain. Really. I’m glad you’re alive.”

Frederick nodded. He and Gaius had never been close. There had been too much suspicion between them, perhaps unwarranted on his part. But they had shared a cause once. The Shepherds were over now, but a sense of camaraderie remained. There were some things he had not missed about Ylisstol. But he had missed this.

“Don’t get caught,” Frederick said.

“Do you trust him?” Robin asked after Gaius had left. She was stationed at the window, and she watched as Gaius exited the inn onto the street.

“To do this, yes,” he said, joining her at the window. Robin had mostly kept a straight face while Gaius had been here. Now concern tightened her brow.

“He said he would reveal you if he’s caught.”

“To be fair, he only implied it.”

“You are alright with that?”

“If it comes down to that, then he’ll have no choice,” Frederick said. “I’d rather he tell than lose his life.”

“Even at the cost of your own?”

“I do not plan on dying,” he clarified. “Rather, I do not believe you would let me. I trust you.”

At first, he thought she had not heard him. Her gaze remained fixed on the street below. Then, very slowly, her cheeks began to redden. He had never seen her blush before.

“You do?” she asked.

“Yes. I had thought it was obvious.”

“Oh. Well, you had never said so before.”

“I trust you, Robin,” he repeated.

Her mouth tightened into a very determined not-smile. It was a losing battle. She put her hands on the windowsill, then back down at her side. She did not know what to do with them.

“You should not say such things lightly,” Robin said finally.

Frederick smiled.

“I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frederick: I shall put my body between Robin and the world so it cannot harm her and she cannot burn it. This is an act of sublime faith, as I trust she will not destroy me. I shall hold her hand and soothe her heart, and then she will not be afraid.  
> Robin: hmmn…cow.


	14. Reunion

The following days were peaceful. Frederick ate meals that were properly cooked. During the day, he and Robin explored the entertainment district. They saw a play. She tried to free caged chickens at the market. He slept at reasonable and regular hours, and awoke not to the blade of assassins, but to sunlight. To Robin sitting at the window, the morning in her hair.

It was relaxing. That’s what Lissa would have called it. She had tried to get him to relax, before. He had thought it a waste of time. Of course, that was when his time had been important enough to be wasted. Now it simply was. Frederick had no duties to attend to. He could not pretend otherwise, as he had back at the castle, busying himself with hunting and training. All he had to do, if it could be called doing, was wait.

Other people lived like this, he thought. Perhaps even Chrom and Lissa were now living like this. Waiting. Their lives suspended between purpose.

It was almost pleasant, except when it was not. The uneventful days were punctuated by moments of untethered fear. Out of nowhere, the ground would seem to rush up, and Frederick would stand almost paralyzed, as if his blood had turned to ice in his body. What if Gaius were killed? What if his letter further incriminated Maribelle? The thought of having the blood of any more friends on his hands was unbearable.

But he bore it anyhow. After a little time, the fear would pass, and Robin would be staring at him, concerned, but understanding. She would ask him if he was alright, and he would say that he was. Then Frederick would continue with his day until the fear caught up to him again.

It was like a routine in that way.

It was four days after their contact with Gaius, and they had heard nothing from him since. As he and Robin wandered through the entertainment district, Frederick’s thoughts kept straying. In three days, he was to assume Gaius was dead. Also, it was their last paid night at the inn. He chose to fixate on the latter problem to avoid thinking too hard on the former—he was not looking forward to telling that barkeep they would be staying a few nights more. It wasn’t that it would be difficult, or that he thought the barkeep would be suspicious. On the contrary, he knew it would be easy. That’s what bothered him.

Their ruse did not trouble Robin, who played her role enthusiastically every time she came downstairs. She was already pretending to be a human, after all. Any additional deception was inconsequential. No matter how they presented their relationship to the barkeep, it would have necessarily been a lie. So what did it matter that she pretended to be his mistress?

But how they were seen mattered to Frederick. It mattered that the barkeep would leer at them as if he were in on their illicit secret. It mattered that he would accept their pretend relationship as a matter of course, as predictable and flippant. But he did not know what they were, much less what they meant to each other. Frederick did not like to lie. He would have preferred to tell the truth, though he was less sure what that “truth” was.

He had told Gaius that Robin was a friend, and she had not contradicted him. Was that what they were, then? But his relationship with Robin was unlike his friendship with the Shepherds. He felt oddly protective of her, similar to how he felt for Chrom and Lissa. But that wasn’t quite right—she was too strong to need his protection, and she did not ask for his devotion. Yet he found himself willing to give it. He wanted to stay with her. He had told her that he would.

It was all very confusing.

“You’re nervous,” Robin said. She had returned to his side after perusing a street vendor’s earthenwares, and she took his hand. It had become her habit since arriving in Ylisstol. If holding his hand comforted her, then Frederick saw no reason to discourage it. After all, he enjoyed it, too. Was that selfish of him? Yet another confusing thing.

“I am not nervous,” he said.

“Worried, then.”

“Yes.”

“There’s still time.”

“I know.”

Robin gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then ventured off toward a display of caged songbirds. Hopefully she would not try to let them out of their cages this time.

It was another warm day, and the crowds were thin under the noon sun. Browsing a display of folding fans, Frederick wondered if they should find something cool for lunch. Thus far, Robin’s opinion on eating had gone back and forth. Sometimes her curiosity about Ylisstol extended to its food, and she would sample a few bites of whatever he was eating. Other times, she seemed wholly disinterested, and would dismiss eating as too much of a hassle. Even though Frederick had known her now for months, the fact that eating was not necessary to her still surprised him. It was a stark reminder that they were different creatures after all. He was mortal in ways that she was not.

Well, necessary or not, he appreciated her company at meals. Frederick turned to call for Robin, but she was nowhere to be seen. This did not bother him at first. Perhaps some trinket had caught her eye, or she had seen another ox-drawn cart. But he did not see her on the main street and the crowds were not thick enough to hide her.

That was concerning.

From the bird vendor where he had seen her last, he could hear raised voices from a nearby alleyway. Frederick approached cautiously.

At first, he was not entirely sure what he was seeing. It appeared that two women had cornered Robin and were…? Trying to rob her? Maybe. They were talking, although he could not quite make out their words. Suddenly, one of the women shoved Robin into the wall.

“Lies!” the woman yelled. He thought Robin would strike back, that he would have to step in and stop her. But she did nothing, even when the woman grabbed her by the throat.

And that was something he could not allow.

Frederick rushed forward, but the second woman blocked his path. Her untied dark hair fell to her waist, and she was dressed in clothes unlike any he had seen in Ylisse. She wore a thin sword at her hip and had the look of a warrior about her.

“This concerns you not,” the woman warned. “Retreat for your own safety.”

“I’m afraid it concerns me quite a bit.”

“It’s alright!” Robin called. “I have this under control!” Despite the hand on her neck, she appeared untroubled by what was happening. In fact, she looked joyous. She grinned at him, her eyes bright.

“Quiet!” the woman holding her commanded, her hold tightening. She was dressed in a coat dyed deep crimson. Her hood had fallen back when she’d pushed Robin, revealing her hair. The color was unlike anything Frederick had seen—a green delicate as new leaves. “Answer my question. What are you doing here? Do you intend to destroy this city, too?”

He tried again to step forward.

“Say’ri, keep him back, please!”

The dark-haired woman, Say’ri, nodded. She touched the hilt of her sword. That could be a problem, Frederick thought. He had not wanted to call attention to himself by wearing a sword in the entertainment district. He was unarmed, save for a small dagger. If blades were drawn, he would be at a great disadvantage.

Robin saw this and was not pleased.

“Do not touch him,” she snarled. Whatever thrill she had felt before was made suddenly ferocious. He felt the air in the alley grow hotter, as if he were standing at the edge of a bonfire. As if _she_ were the bonfire. “Call off your woman or I will kill you both.”

Somehow, this was not enough to spook the women. But it did get their attention. They exchanged a look, and Say’ri’s hand fell from her sword. She retreated a couple of steps, and Robin relaxed, the heat dissipating slightly.

“You are together?” the green-haired woman asked.

“Is that so surprising?”

The woman glared at Robin. Then, for the first time, she turned to Frederick.

“Is it true what she says? Are you her companion?”

Although she still held Robin by the throat, the woman addressed him calmly, all the aggression ironed out of her demeanor. But her voice. It had been almost a hiss when she spoke to Robin, but had softened when the woman turned it on him. It was a curious voice—light, almost airy, and yet it held weight.

“Yes,” Frederick said. “I am. Her companion, that is.”

“Then you know what she really is?”

The implications of that question startled him more than the question itself.

“I do,” he answered.

“And you stay with her, knowing that?”

“I do.”

The woman studied him. Her expression was unreadable as air. Finally, she released Robin.

“We have much to discuss. You have not yet answered my question.”

Robin nodded, as if the woman hadn’t tried to strangle her, and as if she hadn’t threatened to kill her and her partner. As if all that was happening were perfectly reasonable.

“We have a room at an inn nearby,” Robin said. “We could speak privately there.”

“That would work.”

“My lady, is that wise?” Say’ri asked. It was the respectful way of saying, “You have to be kidding.” Frederick was thinking the same thing. Her doubt was familiar to him, nostalgic, even. He had asked that of Chrom who knows how many times.

“It is definitely unwise,” the green-haired woman said, her eyes locked with Robin’s. “But we are beyond conventional wisdom, wouldn’t you say?”

Say’ri sighed, relenting. “Then you may lead the way,” she said to Frederick. Which he knew to mean, “I will have my sword at your back, and if you lead us into a trap, I shall cut you down without mercy.”

They made an apprehensive return to the inn. Or at least, it was apprehensive for Frederick. Showing his back to someone who had almost drawn a sword on him went against his every instinct, and his skin prickled under the women’s gaze. But Robin seemed oblivious to their tempered hostility. Her expression was again joyous, and she walked with no sense of caution.

“Is she…like you?” Frederick asked under his breath.

“Yes,” Robin said, amazement hanging off her voice.

“Both of them?”

“Just the one. Isn’t she beautiful, Frederick?”

“I am not sure of that.” She had attacked her, after all. That was not exactly flattering. But Robin hardly seemed to hear him.

“I wish I could fight her,” she mused. “Do not worry, I won’t. Not here. I will settle with talking to her. What should we talk about, I wonder? I have never talked to someone like myself before.”

Their odd party arrived at the inn, which was mostly empty, save for a few people eating a late lunch. Which meant there was no hope of being inconspicuous—the barkeep had seen them immediately. Frederick had been dreading this.

“We will be extending our stay,” Frederick told the barkeep as Robin ushered the two women upstairs. “For, er, a few days at least.”

The barkeep raised an eyebrow. Then he shook his head, not in refusal, but impressed disbelief.

“You’re only young once,” he muttered.

They went up to the room, and the green-haired woman’s eyes were immediately drawn upward to the rafters, to the undead rat standing sentinel there. Not even Gaius had noticed it.

“I see you are still making your puppets,” she said. Frederick had spent enough time around monarchs and nobility to know that the point of veiling distaste was often to amplify it. Robin did not know this, or she did not care.

“I have always made them,” she said, breezing over the woman’s contempt. “I suppose my father must have, too. But like I said, I have no memory of that. Please, sit.”

Frederick pulled out a chair for the woman, who, after a moment’s hesitation, sat. She folded her hands in her lap, her posture impeccable and perfectly guarded. Say’ri, on the other hand, did not accept the chair offered to her, stationing herself at the door instead. Robin made herself comfortable on the edge of the bed.

“I still cannot believe that you don’t remember me,” the woman said.

“Is that why you have not introduced yourself?” Robin asked. “My name is Robin, by the way, and this is Frederick.”

“Robin? You have taken the name of a songbird?”

“Is that so strange?”

The woman studied Robin, searching for the trace of a lie. Finding none, she sighed.

“Very well. My partner’s name is Say’ri. As for myself, I have had many names. I go by ‘Tiki’ now. However, you knew me best as ‘Naga.’”

The name came as a cold shock to Frederick. But he had not misheard. This woman had claimed to be the divine dragon Naga, revered as a god at the height of dragon worship. According to myth, the old kings of Ylisse had wielded her fangs in their wars of unification. But those stories were only that—myth. The major temples of Naga had fallen centuries ago, and dragon worship had fallen out of fashion, at least in Ylisse. He had never thought that Naga, if she existed at all, would still be alive.

He had pulled out a chair for a former god.

“Naga,” Robin said. She racked her memory, shutting her eyes with effort. But she came up empty. “No, I don’t remember you.”

“Impossible. It has not been a thousand years since we fought last. Even if you were reborn, you should have memories of me.”

“I remember almost nothing.”

The color drained from Tiki’s face.

“You are lying,” she said, though there was no certainty behind her words. Only hollow indignation. “How can you remember nothing? You _must_ remember, Grima!”

For a moment, something passed over Robin’s expression. The light of recollection, perhaps. But as soon as Frederick had seen it, it went out.

“Was that my name?” Robin asked.

“You really don’t remember,” Tiki said. She sat awhile in disappointed silence. No, Frederick corrected himself. It was not disappointment she radiated, but grief. As antagonistic as her relationship with Robin, with Grima, must have been, she could not help but mourn its loss.

“I never thought you would do this,” she finally said. “You were the youngest. The upstart. I thought you would outlast the rest of us. Mila and Duma are dead now, but I’m still…” She sighed. “Grima, my dearest enemy, is dead. And I did not even have the satisfaction of killing him myself.”

“We were enemies?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Then you…you would know about me?”

“I do not know _about_ you. I _know_ you. Or knew, at least. I could tell you who you were, if it matters. Does it matter?”

Frederick watched as Robin considered it. She took a breath, as if to speak, then didn’t. She looked to him, no, _to_ him. For what, he wondered, staring back. But evidently, she found what she was looking for.

“It does not matter,” Robin finally said. “And even if you told me, I am not sure what I would do with that knowledge. Knowing would not be the same as remembering.”

Tiki nodded, respectful of her decision. Perhaps she was relieved that she would not have to recount those now one-sided memories.

“The past is lost to you,” she said. “All those centuries are gone. Whether this is absolution or punishment, I cannot say. I do not know who you have become, nor your intentions.”

“You are worried about my intentions.”

“I heard about what you did. Or what Grima did. A dragon attacked this country’s old capital. That was you, was it not?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you’ve come here? To destroy Ylisstol once again?”

“Robin would not do that,” Frederick said suddenly. All eyes turned to him. Even Robin seemed startled. “She is here only because I asked her to accompany me.”

“Then you trust her to be here?” Tiki asked him. “Even knowing what she did?”

“Yes. I…I tried to kill her for it. I failed.”

“You lived,” Tiki observed.

“She let me live. She did not want me to die.”

Robin was smiling at him with unabashed fondness, and he felt, for the first time in a long while, brave. It did not matter that Tiki was a dragon or a god, or that she had known Robin in her past life. She did not know her now. He did.

“You travel with a human as well,” he continued. “Do you truly believe she would jeopardize that to attack a city?”

“Watch your words, lest I find them lacking respect,” Say’ri warned.

“It’s alright,” Tiki said. Her face softened when she looked at him. She had kind eyes, he thought. Kind, but tired. “Your confidence is heartening, Frederick. But please understand, it is my responsibility to ask these questions of her. I used to call this land my home, and its people are precious to me still. I could not stand by and allow another dragon to do it harm.”

She turned to address Robin and her expression became formidable once again.

“If you wish to live in peace, Grima…no, Robin, then I have no quarrel with you. However, if you were to harm humans…”

“You would destroy me?”

Tiki smiled. “Without hesitation.”

“I wonder,” Robin mused. “You say we were enemies, and perhaps our strength was matched, once. But you are weaker than me now.”

There was a crack in Tiki’s smile.

“You are, aren’t you? I could tell when you attacked my in the alley. Your hand was shaking. You do not have the strength to hurt me properly.”

Tiki’s body had gone rigid as a serpent preparing to strike. But then she sighed, her pretenses collapsing. She leaned back in her chair.

“You may have been reborn, but you remain as impertinent as ever,” she said. “I do not deny it. I am old, Robin, far older than you, and my strength is not what it once was. I lack the power to attempt another fire birth. In a century’s time, I will die.”

Say’ri winced, her hands balling into tight fists. But she did not say anything. She knew, Frederick realized.

It was chilling to hear a god announce her death with such certainty. And yet, a century seemed unfathomably distant to Frederick. He and everyone he knew, every human at least, would be dead by then. He could not begin to comprehend the millennia Tiki’s life must have spanned. It was too long for human understanding. Only stones grew as old.

Would Robin live that long?

“That isn’t possible,” Robin said, accusation in her voice. She had taken Tiki’s revelations and threats in stride, but this was different. It was as if the fact of Tiki’s mortality was a personal affront. “I only just met you. You cannot be dying.”

“I am.”

“But you’re…you’re not mad! How does a dragon reach the end of its life without going mad?”

“I have wondered that myself. Many dragons I knew did not face death with grace. I have had to put a few out of their misery myself. And it was misery. They became dangerous, baring their fangs at anyone they crossed. It was a tragic end to lives as proud as theirs.

“We speak of it as madness, myself included. We think it is inevitable that we deteriorate, as so many of our kind have done before us. Yet as I near death, my mind is a clear as it has ever been.”

She shared a look with Say’ri. Something passed between them, something subtle and full of meaning.

“I have been incredibly lucky,” Tiki said, almost to herself. “But that has led me to believe that perhaps our condition is not as inevitable as we think. Perhaps it is not madness at all.”

“But I…my father went mad,” Robin insisted. “He must have waited too long between fire births. That’s why he became the way he was.”

Tiki shook her head.

“If your last fire birth was twenty years ago, then Grima would have been three or four centuries into his cycle. I have gone longer between fire births without deteriorating. I have never attacked humans, at least.”

“But he wanted to destroy everything. Is that not madness?”

“I have seen many humans in the thrall of madness,” Tiki said. “Few were destructive, as dragons tend to become. If we think of madness as the absence of reason, then I do not think your father was mad at all. The world is often cruel. I love it, but I understand those who do not. It often does not love us back. If one believes the world does not deserve to exist, that it cannot sustain goodness, then that is reason enough to destroy it. Or oneself.” A shadow fell over Tiki’s face. “He achieved the latter.”

“Then what is it?” Robin asked. “If not madness, what do we die from? Why do we turn monstrous?”

Tiki smiled. Robin had been right, Frederick thought. She was beautiful, in the way colored glass was beautiful. Her smile in that moment was a fragile thing, full of so much heartbreak he thought she would shatter.

“Pain,” Tiki said. “I believe we die from pain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have outlined the next couple of chapters, and two things. (1) The rating for this fic will probably go up in the next chapter; and (2) I’m sorry about (1). I think it will be awkward for everyone.


	15. Full Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so the rating has changed. Please see updated tags.

How awkward.

Across from him, Say’ri picked at the remains of her meal in silence. She was not ignoring him, exactly. But she was not trying to be friendly, either.

They had been politely kicked out of the room, with Tiki suggesting that they get something to eat downstairs. It was not night yet—it was hardly late afternoon. But it was clear that she and Robin wished to speak alone. After the centuries of history lost between them, they deserved an hour.

It was now nearing two hours. Two hours alone in Say’ri’s company. And what quiet company it was. It was not that Frederick felt compelled to fill the silence with words—he had never been one to delight at the sound of his own voice. But there were things he wanted to ask her, questions perhaps only she could understand. But he had never been much of a conversationalist. The only words the two of them had exchanged thus far had been threats.

“You are staring,” Say’ri noted.

“My apologies,” he said. Then, fumbling for some inroad to conversation, he pressed forward. “I was just thinking that I have never seen a sword like yours. Not in Ylisse, anyhow.”

“It is from Chon’sin. As am I.”

Chon’sin. The name was familiar to him. A small nation across the sea.

“That is in Valm, is it not?”

A bitter smile quirked her lips.

“On the continent, aye. We are not part of the empire.”

“I see,” he said. Clearly, it was a delicate subject.

“But you do not mean to ask about my sword,” she said. Say’ri pushed her plate away and crossed her arms. There was a pointed grace to her irritation. “You’ll not stop staring until you ask, will you? Then out with it, if I amn’t have peace otherwise.”

Frederick nodded. She was right. He should simply ask.

“Are you and Tiki lovers?”

The look she gave him was absolutely withering. It took him a moment to realize why.

“I do not ask for prurient reasons, I assure you,” he said. “I am simply curious.”

“Curious,” she repeated, her voice flat as flint.

“Yes. After all, she is…”

“A dragon.”

“A god.”

“So you did know.”

Something in Say’ri’s manner relaxed. A change came over her face, and she looked at him not with suspicion, but recognition. Or at least, the potential for recognition. She tapped a finger against her arm in thought.

“She would not admit being a god if you asked her,” she said. “Though she was worshipped as one once. She told me that she gave it up long ago. She thought it would all be forgotten by now.”

“The faith may be dead, but Naga is legend. Her story is entwined with the very history of Ylisstol. I do not think we are capable of forgetting her.”

“Oh,” Say’ri said. Then, for the first time he’d seen, she smiled. It more tragic than a young person’s smile should be, tinged with relief and heartache both. “I am glad for that. She ought to be remembered, even if she is not worshipped.”

“Why did she give up being a god?” he asked. According to legend, after forging her holy kingdom, Naga had simply disappeared. The stories diverged from there. In some, she perished in a great battle. In others, she fell into a deep sleep beneath the earth. In most versions, she abandoned humanity as punishment for their arrogance. But those tales had always struck him as cruel.

Frederick watched as Say’ri weighed her choices. To tell him or not? What right had he to know the mind of a god, what no other human but her knew? But then, he was different from other humans. He was companion to a dragon, like her.

Say’ri’s face settled into decision.

“It was not satisfying,” she said.

“That’s it?!”

Her answer was not like any of the stories. It was not…anything. It had to be incomplete. Could a god quit their station merely because they did not like it? Was it really that easy?

“It was no flippant decision, if that is what you think,” Say’ri continued, her tone growing defensive. “She had given your people all she had to give. Fire, law, poetry, the art of magic. She did not think she could do any more as a god, and she grew weary of worship. It was a thin love you gave her—impersonal and spread over generations. She thought your energies would be better spent elsewhere. She left.”

“And found you.”

“Against the odds.” She smirked. “And I am allowed to love her as her followers could not. That is my freedom, as well as hers.”

Freedom, she called it. And she must have been correct. If it was not freedom to forsake a nation for one person, then what was?

“But she gave up so much.”

“Aye. We both did. But I shan’t say it was not worth it. I made my choice, and each day I make it again.” She studied him for a moment, curiosity flickering across her face. “Was that not how it was for you and Robin?”

“No,” he said, too quickly. “No, we…we are not…”

Not what? Frederick couldn’t bring himself to say it. It could not be that simple, could it? He let the words die in his throat.

“How do you do it?” he asked instead. It was a vague question, yet she heard it in sympathy. No, in understanding.

“How indeed?” Say’ri wondered. “I have only been with her a few years. That is no time at all for one such as her. Our greatest challenges lie ahead still. But I admit, it is at times difficult. Many of those difficulties are simply part of sharing a life with someone. Rarely is she so composed as you saw her today. We quarrel, like everyone. We try clumsily to care for each other. It is like other relationships in that regard.”

But it was not like other relationships. Both of them knew it, no matter how Say’ri danced around it.

“Of course, they shall outlast us,” Say’ri said finally. “Lest some calamity take them, which would be worse. A century is a short chapter in their lives. We have but decades. Perhaps less, if we am not careful.”

“And you can tolerate that?” he asked. “She said that dragons lose themselves to pain. When you…Will that not pain her?”

“It shall,” she said quietly. Quickly. “But there is no stopping time, not even for gods. And she refuses to stand stopped and let it pass her. She told me…she told me that she has lived with loss. With pain. But she will not let that frighten her from the joy of having.”

“Then she is strong,” Frederick said. “Both of you are. I admit, I envy your strength. I do not know how you endure it.”

“Is that how you see it? As strength?”

“Isn’t it?”

“You are a warrior,” Say’ri guessed suddenly. “But you hold yourself too well to be a common soldier. A knight?”

Frederick fought to keep his smile free from complicated emotions. She was canny. Her warrior’s eye, or maybe traveling with a dragon for years had attuned her to such things.

“Perhaps,” he said. She raised an eyebrow, but she did not challenge him.

“Then you are familiar with the vows a knight takes with their master.”

“Oath,” he said. “An oath, not a vow.”

“‘Tis similar enough,” she said, waving his objection aside. “It is that sort of loyalty. It is…it is a commitment. Of yourself, your life, to something beyond both. Something worthy of your devotion.”

He nodded. That he understood.

“That is how I endure it,” she explained. “I draw my strength from that commitment. Being with her makes all the necessary trials and sacrifices worth it. It is enough. But you must want it.”

Clearly, Say’ri did. It was evident in her every action. She had purpose, or something like it. Maybe even something better. Certainty.

“But you are correct,” she said in humbleness. “Pain is inevitable, and I am not sure how well we shall endure it then. Perhaps it is not strength we have, but folly.” Despite her bleak words, she smiled. “Yet I want not to regret anything. I want to love her properly, while I can.”

Frederick nodded. He envied that, too.

It was getting dark by the time Robin and Tiki joined them downstairs. Frederick hadn’t realized he was apprehensive about leaving the two of them alone until Robin was at his side again. It wasn’t that he thought she would be in danger—when she’d said she was stronger than Tiki, he’d believed her. But part of him feared she would emerge from that room different somehow, made foreign to him.

But Robin was herself, as far as he could tell, if a little dazed and pensive. She had the look of someone who had stared too long at the sun. Robin sidled up next to him, smiling faintly, and plucked a cold potato wedge from his plate. She chewed, her attention on Tiki as she whispered something to Say’ri. Say’ri nodded and stood.

“You’re going?” Frederick asked.

“We were planning on leaving Ylisstol tonight,” Tiki said, almost apologetically. “We have already overstayed our welcome in this city. Time to move on.”

“We’ll see you out,” Robin offered. Something passed between her and Tiki that Frederick could not quite place. Then Tiki put on a smile, or something like it.

“Thank you,” she said.

The streets were even livelier than usual, vivid with flutes and drums. A festival, he realized as a party of garlanded girls rushed past them. It was the last full moon of the summer. The last bright night before a season of growing darkness.

Robin and Tiki were speaking in low voices. Frederick could not make out their words. He did not try to. Both he and Say’ri had turned their faces to the road in a sheepish attempt to give them privacy. Clustered in front of the inn, they must have looked like any other party of festival goers, he thought. They looked like ordinary people.

“Promise?” Robin asked, her voice rising to its usual volume. 

“I cannot,” Tiki said firmly. “If I could, then I…But you know I cannot.”

Robin nodded, resigned. Then to his surprise, Tiki embraced her, squeezing tightly.

“Thank you,” she said. As abruptly as she’d held her, she let Robin go. In the moment before Tiki gathered herself, her eyes met his. She smiled shyly, as if embarrassed for forgetting he was there. Then she composed herself. “I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet the two of you. If we meet again, I hope it is under happy circumstances.”

He and Robin watched as they disappeared into the crowd, their backs growing smaller and smaller. Robin was silent, her eyes on the street even after they had disappeared from sight. She had not said a word to him since coming out of the room.

“What did you talk about?” he finally asked.

“Lots of things,” she said. Robin looked up at him, and to his relief, she appeared untroubled. “We talked a bit about you, actually.”

“Oh?”

“It was nothing too embarrassing. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” she said. “Your brow is all bunched up.”

Well. She was right about that.

“I thought you might be overwhelmed,” he said. “She knew so much about you. About your past.”

“I’m fine,” Robin assured him. But her expression grew sober. “She asked me to kill her, should anything happen. Should she…lose herself.”

No wonder Tiki had wanted to speak to Robin alone. To ask such a thing in front of Say’ri would have been impossible. It would have been impossible for him, at least.

Frederick brushed his fingers against the back of Robin’s hand.

“It will not come to that,” he said.

She smiled slightly, perhaps not quite believing him, but accepting his comfort, nevertheless. 

Commitment.

Frederick contemplated Say’ri’s words as he lay in bed that night. She had compared a relationship with a dragon to a knight’s oath, and it had made sense at the time. But the more he thought about it, the fewer similarities there were. He had sworn an oath to Chrom and Lissa, but not to them only. And he had not sworn himself to them as “Frederick” to “Chrom” and “Lissa,” but as a knight to the prince and princess of Ylisse. That’s what an oath was—not a relationship between people, but an expectation of conduct.

That did not mean he hadn’t known Chrom and Lissa as people, or that he loved them any less, only that there had been a wall between them. There had been a limit to how much his love was allowed to grow. Yet he had protected that wall, even when Chrom had tried to challenge it. He had been afraid, so he had kept a safe distance. Frederick could see that now.

But it was not that way with Robin, was it? Hadn’t they already surmounted the greatest wall between them? They had not killed each other. They _would not_ kill each other. If there was anything between them still, it was probably…

He felt the bed lurch with the weight of another body.

“Robin?”

“Could you move over a little?”

Her shoulder bumped against his, and Frederick made room for her before he could think better of it. Then he thought better of it. So much for keeping a safe distance.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m going to sleep.”

“I thought you didn’t sleep.”

“I don’t particularly want to,” Robin admitted. “But Tiki said that I should try. She said that breaking up consciousness with periods of unconsciousness can be a healthy way to let our minds rest. She slept for a whole decade once.”

“Oh.”

Frederick did not think he would be able to sleep. It was a warm night, and although they were not quite touching, he was keenly aware of Robin’s body heat and the sound of her steady breathing. Outside, the moon was full and the sky cloudless. Although their lantern was out, the room was washed in silvered brightness. He closed his eyes and still the light bled through.

Minutes passed. Frederick felt Robin toss and turn next to him, literally restless. Finally, she sighed.

“Are you awake?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“Yes.”

“I cannot sleep.”

“Neither can I.”

“I thought it would be easier,” she confessed. “But my mind is too full.”

“You are thinking of Tiki?” he guessed. She nodded, though it was obvious. She had done little else all evening.

“She really was another dragon,” Robin said. “We really met her. And she was traveling with a human, too.”

Robin went quiet long enough for Frederick to think she had drifted off.

“Tiki and Say’ri were together,” she said suddenly.

“I know,” he said.

“Romantically.”

“I know.”

“Isn’t that amazing?” she mused. “Tiki lived for thousands of years, and at the end of her life she went and fell in love with a human. And Say’ri loved her back. It is foolish. I did not think such a thing was possible.”

He had not thought so either. It wasn’t that he thought no feelings could grow between a human and dragon. Obviously, they could. But permitting that to happen had seemed foolish, as Robin had said. It still did. The differences between dragons and humans were great. Lifespan was just the beginning of it. To be together would mean spending their lives under scrutiny. They would be lonely in whatever community they chose, if they could settle at all. No one would bless such a relationship.

But Say’ri and Tiki had done it anyhow.

“They are making it work,” he said.

“They are,” Robin agreed. Then she turned to him, her face lovely with moonlight. “I want that,” she said quietly.

Frederick felt his breath catch.

“With me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Oh. She wanted him.

She wanted him.

He ought to be more surprised, he thought. But he wasn’t. He was not quite sure _what_ he was feeling, some combination of elation and relief. His confusion, the mess of his thoughts this past week, they made sense. He wanted to stay with her, yes. But that was not all.

_“You must want it.”_

“I want that, too,” he whispered, finally.

Robin smiled, and he felt a deep ache in his chest. He reached out, his fingers brushing her neck. Tiki had grabbed her here without leaving so much as a bruise. Or it has bruised, and Robin had healed herself before he had noticed. But the skin there was soft; he could feel her galloping heartbeat.

“That tickles.”

“I would like to kiss you,” he said. She smirked.

“Then kiss me.”

Their lips met, cautiously at first. But Robin was not much for caution. She came into her confidence and kissed fiercely, if somewhat clumsily, her fingers tangling in his hair. It was at once pleasant and suffocating. She tasted vaguely of smoke, Frederick thought, his head light.

“So that was a kiss,” Robin murmured when she pulled away. She licked her lips, as if expecting to find a trace of him there.

“Did you like it?”

“Do it again?” she asked, already pulling him close.

He kissed her, slowly this time because that’s what felt right. He could feel her impatience in the way she held him, but he made her wait. He wanted her to chase him a little, and she was more than willing to oblige. She pressed her body against him, her hand covering the tender place above his heart. Her breath was hot against his cheek, inside his mouth. It was like swallowing a small flame.

This time when he broke the kiss, his breathing was labored, as was hers. She smoothed his hair out of his face, her expression searching.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” she asked. Blunt as the butt of an axe. It stunned him. He faltered.

“I…I’m sorry?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?” she repeated.

“Must you say it like that?”

“How should I say it?” Her confusion was confoundingly innocent. She looked at him, expectant and entirely without shame. “Would you like to…have intercourse?”

“That is worse, actually.”

“Well, whatever you want to call it, I have always wanted to try it,” she continued. “And it felt like you wanted to. Was I mistaken?”

The shock was now wearing off, and Frederick finally had enough sense to blush. He had not let himself think so far ahead. Such thoughts would have been untoward and unbecoming, especially for a knight.

But.

Well.

He did want to.

But whether they _should_ was another question. Were they moving too fast? Did she know what asking this meant to him? Frederick’s thoughts began to race, the newfound confidence in his desire quickly eroding. They had already acknowledged that this was a foolish endeavor. Perhaps they shouldn’t after all.

There was the problem of experience, for one thing. His was limited to teenage fumbling behind the barracks. Those memories were not entirely pleasant, and he had come away from many of those encounters sweaty, awkward, and slightly ashamed. He did not wish to inflict that on Robin.

“I would not know what to do,” Frederick admitted. “I haven’t exactly…with…” He gestured toward her.

“With a dragon?”

“…Yes,” he said, not bothering to correct her. It was true, at least.

“If it makes you feel better, I haven’t done it with a human, either.”

He had figured as much. But that meant both of them did not know what to do with each other. It did not inspire confidence.

“Are you worried about that?” Robin asked, a smugness in her voice. “You don’t have to be. I may lack experience, but I have read up on the subject.”

Gods give him strength.

“That may be less helpful than you think,” Frederick said weakly.

“Why? I had only read about poultice making before meeting you, but that turned out alright.”

“It is not the same,” he said. “That was simply following directions. This is…this isn’t a recipe.”

“Do you not want to, then?” she asked, confused again. “Should I do it with another human first for the experience?”

“I would rather you not,” he said. He ran a hand over his face, centering his thoughts. “I want to…be intimate with you, Robin. But I simply…if I am to be your first, I want it to be special. I want it to be good.”

If he was going to allow himself to want her, he wanted to at least be worthy.

Robin considered that for a moment. A very short moment.

“That’s silly,” she concluded. “If it is with you, then of course it would be special. And if it isn’t, we can just try again.”

Ah. Well. That was one way to think about it.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she continued. “But I’ll still want to if you do.”

“I do,” he said. He placed a hand on her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, her breath tickling the inside of his wrist. “I want to.”

If they could try again, if she was willing to have him, then he could at least try. He wanted to love her properly, while he could.

He kissed her, and Robin smiled against his lips. She pulled him on top of her, let him push her skirt up.

It was not as awkward as Frederick thought it would be, but it was close. Despite her boasting, it became immediately clear that Robin was no more of an expert at this than he. Her hands were overeager, and she nearly gave him a bloody nose when he (finally) touched her in the right place.

(After confirming that no, he wasn’t bleeding, and no, nothing was broken, she looked at him, eyes wide with delighted bewilderment.

“Is it _supposed_ to feel like that?”)

But despite the frequent stops and false starts, they finally slipped into a good rhythm. Her limbs loosened beneath his touch, and she sighed against his skin. He sank into her as gently as he could. Because although she insisted otherwise, he _could_ hurt her, and it _did_ matter. And she was gentle too, although he did not realize at first how lightly she held him. How as he rocked into her, she clutched at the bedsheets instead of his back, should her talons accidentally slip out. It was a restraint he could not manage himself.

He had been more pent up these last few months than he’d realized. It was a bit frightening, how easy it was to let loose the reins of his discipline. And yet, even as he lost himself in the sound of her moans, even as they shuddered against each other, Robin pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth. It was a small thing, heartbreaking in its tenderness.

He hadn’t known it could be like this.

After they had spent themselves, after a lazy cleanup, they fell into each other’s arms again. Robin had tucked her head against his chest, which she insisted was comfortable, although he had his doubts.

“See?” she said, her voice a low purr. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“You’re right,” he chuckled, stroking her hair. “I am glad you convinced me.”

“I’m glad, too.” Her breathing grew slow and even. “I think I’m sleepy,” she said after a while.

“You should sleep.”

“I still don’t want to.”

“Is that why we did this?” he teased. “So you could put off sleep?”

“You’re right,” Robin laughed. “It was all a ploy to keep you up with me.” She shifted slightly, her fingers curling against his sleeve. Something snagged in her breathing, some small worry. “If I don’t…I may not wake in the morning. If I don’t, you will be here to wake me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he promised.

 _“One day you won’t be,”_ a voice inside of him warned. It was true. Someday, the sun would rise on the first morning he was no longer with her. But that was some time off. Now, Robin was drowsing against him, sinking into her first sleep in a decade. And in a few hours, he would gently wake her. He would do so for as many mornings as he could.

“Goodnight, Robin,” he said. But she had already fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end, y'all. Just a couple more chapters.


	16. You have been a fool.

_You have been a fool._

_You nurse your injuries—deep gashes, bite wounds from fangs touch enough to punch through your scales. The torn-open flesh still stings with magic. Your body is trying desperately to heal itself, but the wounds do not close like they usually do. It is exhilarating and excruciating._

_This is not the worst defeat Naga has dealt you, but it is close. Should have known better than to challenge her so close to her temple. You still do not understand why she nests with humans, but she had never fought you so fiercely, so magnificently before. You take some pride in this, despite your loss. It means she is finally taking you seriously. About time._

_You rip your damaged scales out, the ones you can reach, at least. The work is painful and clumsy, your fangs slippery with your own blood. But they will grow back faster this way. When you are done, you heave yourself to your feet and unfurl your five unbroken wings. Naga let you run, but you are still in her territory. You have a day at most before she comes after you._

_You fly. The thrill of the fight wears off, and you are wretched with hurt. But you fly. You fly until your wings are numb. When you finally stop, you are too exhausted to land. You crash into the dry earth, dust biting at your open wounds. Foolish. You breathe fire down your flank in an attempt to numb the pain. It helps little. You are shaking, and the world is too heavy for you. You shut your eyes._

_You wake to the sound of chittering voices. Birds, you think, but they are not so melodic as that. Humans, then._

_You open your eyes, and someone yelps as they stumble away from your face. There are perhaps fifty of them—a dusty, sunburnt group of varying ages. And they have drawn too close for their own good. You stand suddenly. The humans pull back, but they do not scatter. They simply stare and murmur among themselves._

_“Are you a dragon?” a man asks._

_“Are you stupid?” you spit back. Some laughter and more murmuring. You snort smoke and turn away from them, tail lashing. You are annoyed when they follow, but not surprised._

_Sleep has healed you. Your old wounds do not so much as ache, and your scales have regrown splendidly. You estimate that you have lost a few months to sleep, perhaps a whole year. It is nothing._

_The land you escaped to in your blind flight is harsh, dry, and without shade. Most of the plants that grow are gnarled things, bent under the sun’s heat. Otherwise, they are covered in spines. The entire landscape radiates hostility, which suits you just fine. But it is withering to the humans. They fry during the day and freeze at night. They shuffle behind you, weakening daily from hunger and thirst. You watch them attempt to pry open the spiny plants for their meat. They are fascinating and pitiful._

_They are exiles. Unfortunate souls banished from their home for whatever odd reason. Human cruelty is so foreign to you. It would be easier, you think, more merciful to have killed them. Perhaps that is why they follow you unafraid. The worst that can befall them is a speedier death. You contemplate giving it to them. Then you decide on something else._

_You lead them to an outcropping of high, flat stones. It is a few days’ journey, and by the time you arrive, they are fading. The rocks offer rare and welcome shade, and they rest as you set to work._

_You strike at the ground, the hard earth splintering beneath your talons. You strike again and again, chasing the thin scent you’ve been following for days. You are young and strong, yet the work is hard. It takes hours. The humans watch you, resigning themselves to the knowledge that the dragon they followed is mad and will likely turn on them once it stops attacking the ground. What they think does not matter._

_What matters is that you succeed. You crack through the stone lid and the sleeping water stirs, flows up. The humans do not know it yet, but this is the moment you save them. This is the moment you become a god._

_They live. They live well. They build homes out of clay, and you steal goats for them, which populate into reliable herds. They irrigate the land, which yields barley and onions. Occasionally, an outsider stumbles into the village. Wanderers, other exiles. They are grateful for shelter and water, and some of them stay. Others leave, taking word of your village with them. Traveling merchants begin passing through, trading their wares for water. They call your village the “Dragon’s Table” after its high, flat stones and your hospitality._

_You could leave. You have given them what they need to survive. The desert sky is vast, beckoning. Your wings itch. But where would you fly to? Back to Naga? You’re not that desperate. So you stay. The humans are interesting, and you have nothing better to do._

_Within a year the first babies are born. For whatever reason, the parents bring their children to you. They are red-faced, puckered, damp things. You cannot help but feel proud._

_There are deaths within the first year, too. A couple of the elderly pass in their sleep. A child succumbs to fever. A young man falls from the rocks and snaps his neck. The village mourns, and you struggle to comprehend what has happened. You have never seen death up close before, not in any way that mattered. It is strange that bodies should lie so still. They don’t have to, you think, and magic courses through you._

_You raise the dead. It is not life, but it is a close imitation. They move almost intelligently, almost autonomously. It frightens your people at first. They do not understand what you have done, only that you have done it. And because they trust you, they grow used to it. After all, why should the body end with death? Why should anything good ever end?_

_Your art is utilitarian. The spring you raised is precious, but your people should not die protecting it. Now, they don’t have to. Death has a purpose after all—the defense of the living._

_(This will go wrong in ways you do not foresee. The kingdom, Plegia, the ones who exiled your people, they will know better than to make an enemy of you. They will allow your people to exist quietly within the kingdom’s borders. But they will find your undead army, and by extension your people, unnatural. They will not raise their swords against you. But they will not help you, either.)_

_One day, a woman comes to you. She wants to know how to raise the dead. She is talented, and you are certain she could learn how to do it if you showed her. But you refuse. Magic is the province of dragons. Naga taught it to her humans, but they wasted it, turning it against each other like any crude cudgel. You pity that. You will not allow such a thing to happen here._

_Instead, you teach them better things. Letters. How to find direction from the stars. How to predict and shelter against sandstorms. How to capture the wind’s power. Like all humans You know so many things, a thousand years of things. They know so much more._

_It astounds you how much they’ve learned in their short lives, how much they’ve managed to pass down. Like all humans you have met, they have a brilliance for survival. Yet there are gaps in their knowledge, places where their collective memory frays. You fill those gaps. Your life is long, and your mind can hold eons. When your people die, you preserve their memory as well as their bodies. They live on in you, and they live on as the village, which continues._

_You are starting to understand why Naga chose to live among humans. Before, you could go years without speaking to anyone. Now, there is not a day you spend in silence. Somehow, you find their company comfortable. Peaceful in a way you should abhor, because isn’t your body made for violence? For the expert rending and burning of flesh?_

_Maybe not. You have never gone so long without fighting. You chase off stray wyverns and get into spats with young dragons trying to edge in on your territory, but these are few and far between and hardly count as fights. You win handily, and were you on your own, they would not be worth your time. But you have your people to protect now._

_You love them. Effortlessly. Their joys are your joys, their sorrows, your sorrows. You take a human form to feel closer to them. You live under a roof in the temple they build for you—a cool place out of the sun. And they treat you so, so kindly. They bring gifts. They make sure you are fed, even though they know you do not need to eat. They visit the temple not always in worship, but because they know you like to be with them._

_You have never known kindness like this, never experienced it from other dragons. Not even from Naga, who has spared your life each time you fought, who taught you everything you know about strength through her claws and fangs. You can’t say she didn’t act out of love. But this is different. It sits inside of you, a tender and fragile thing. Sometimes, it feels so good it hurts._

_It lasts for centuries. Not a long time._

_(You have been a fool.)_

_News of the war is slow to reach you, largely because no one seems certain that it is actually a war. At first, it seems like only a border skirmish with Ylisse. This is common enough. Though you always had to goad Naga into a fight, her people have shown far more initiative. It seems they rush Plegia’s borders at least once a generation._

_But the conflict goes on. And on. Still, when you hear the Ylissean army has invaded Plegia, you are not worried. The fate of the kingdom does not concern you—you have not forgotten that Plegia once condemned your people to die in the desert. The Dragon’s Table is far from the capital, quite literally in the middle of nowhere. You think isolation will protect you, as it always has, that the war will pass over your heads._

_There are more pressing dangers. A sandstorm is roiling on the horizon, approaching fast. The village is busy girding itself against the winds, shuttering windows, herding goats into covered pens, laying heavy tarps over their gardens. They help you close up the temple. Someone jokes that if Ylisse wants a piece of Plegia, their soldiers can take a scoop of sand each. It is a bad joke, but everyone is anxious enough to think it’s hilarious. When they finish, the sky above already dusty and the wind is picking up. Neighbors with each other luck and disappear into their houses. You hunker down as well, the wind screaming at your doorstep._

_Which is why you don’t hear the actual screams until it is too late. A chill goes through you when you realize what you’re hearing. It is the sound of the end of the world._

_Outside, the storm is so strong you cannot make sense of what is happening. The sand burns against your eyes, skin, throat. Still, the smell of burning earth reaches you. The sound of human screams. You take your true form and are nearly knocked off of your feet—there is more of you for the wind to buffet. You fold your wings tightly against your body and try to orient yourself._

_There are soldiers in the village. Ylissean soldiers. Whether they have found you on purpose or were blown off course by the storm does not matter. They have descended on your people’s houses, attacking blindly, set on seizing shelter by whatever force necessary. And there was no one to defend against them. Your risen army takes to the streets belatedly. They are not skilled warriors, but they are great in number. They should be able to push the soldiers out._

_But._

_Lighting cracks through the air and a whole swath of risen fall. Scorched flesh and earth. Your people are powerless against mages. Their magic explodes through your defenses, through homes and goat pens. The wind catches the debris and turns it deadly in its own right. You see an elderly man stumble from the ruins of his home, a shard of wood piercing his side. He is cut down before he can find other shelter. There is nowhere to run, anyhow. Your people are either dying in their homes or in the streets, their bodies you had so cherished becoming hacked flesh, splattering against the flat stones._

_How can that happen? How can that be allowed to happen?_

_You scream as you throw yourself at the front line of the battle. But there is no front line, only chaos. You rear back, readying to loose a jet of flame, then stop yourself. Even without the sand half blinding you, it would be difficult to distinguish your enemies. You cannot breathe fire here without engulfing the village as well._

_Your people are dying, and you are unable to do anything but kill them faster._

_As you hesitate, a bolt of lightning shatters upon your throat. The sting is familiar—Naga’s magic had hurt just like this. Why, why had she given her magic to humans? Why had you not done the same?_

_More bolts follow, though you cannot tell from where. It would be simple to dispatch a single mage, but they swarm you. Like ants, you think. That is all that they are. You are choking on pain and sand and fear and finally, rage._

_Unforgiveable._

_Unforgivable._

_Unforgivable._

_You lash out, your talons slicing through soft flesh. You do not know who you hit. Still, you strike again and again and again. Your fangs and talons are stained with blood, are buffed clean by sand, are stained again. Your tail smashes against armor, buildings, and bone alike. You will kill them. You_ must _kill them. You will devour all who have spilled the blood of your people upon this table._

_Inside you, that tender, fragile thing snaps._

_You do not will the fire to your throat, but it is there regardless. You let it erupt, the violent blast of flame tearing past your teeth. The grief inside of you is endless. The fire is endless. The wind carries it, spins it into a roaring torrent. It is a firestorm. You are a firestorm. You cannot stop burning. Even when everything left is reduced to charcoal, you do not stop. Why would you? After all, you were made for this. You could do this forever._

_._

_._

_._

_You burn for days._

_._

_._

_._

_There is nothing left._

_._

_._

_._

_But you remain._

_The desert is vast and clear. It makes you feel small and unimportant in your human body, like any grain of sand._

_You wander, an exile of your own making. Your mind grapples with the solitude. After hundreds of years living with others, you cannot be alone. But you cannot be otherwise. The thought of humans is too hurtful. Some days, you feel like your body is splitting open._

_(You saw an axe split open a woman’s head. It was shocking in how plainly it happened. From a distance, it had looked effortless—the arm dropping, the axe it held, dropping. Less blood than you had expected. You did not hear the impact. You did not hear a scream. You did not even see the dead woman’s face. She could have been anyone.)_

_You do not split open. Instead, you lie down, sometimes for days. Weeks. Long enough for the sand and dust to cover you. You do not suffocate. You do not die. It is painful. You get up. It is painful._

_It doesn’t make sense that the village is gone. How can something that took centuries to build be destroyed in an hour? It shouldn’t be possible. Some days, you convince yourself it isn’t. Surely it is a trick, a problem of object permanence. Nothing can actually be gone forever. The village must still be there, same as it ever was._

_You almost believe it._

_You will never go back._

_You hate them. Humans. You hate them for making you feel so desolate. You hate the Ylisseans for their violence. You hate the Plegians for their indifference. (For you learn that Plegia had evacuated other towns in the wake of the Ylissean advance. They knew. They could have come for you. They did not.) And you hate your people. You hate them for dying. You hate that you loved them, let them become a part of you._

_You remember everything. It is too much._

_Your mind begins to unravel. You lose time. One moment you are dragging your feet through the sand, the next you are flying low over a Plegian town. You don’t mind the lost time—if anything, it is a mercy. But you do not like coming to over human settlements, or in your true form. Both disgust you. You burn some rooftops and fly away, plunging yourself back into the empty desert._

_You gain a reputation from these sporadic attacks. “The Fell Dragon,” they call you. Because you are terrible. And you are certainly fallen._

_In your more lucid moments, you wonder why no one has stopped you. Someone should stop you. Wasn’t there someone before? Someone who had promised to destroy you? She. Her. Naga._

_NAGA._

_You are gripped by fresh hatred. It is so strong that you are physically brought to your knees, your hands clawing at the cursed earth. Yes, Ylisse was her country, her people. Those mages had wielded her magic._

_You’ll kill her._

_Your thoughts have not been so calm in months. Your rage is thicker than ever, yet everything seems so clear. This is how it is supposed to be. This is the fate of dragons. One of you will have to die. Perhaps both._

_You walk out of the desert for the first time in centuries. Ylisse is a verdant land. You had almost forgotten how green the world can be, how densely trees could grow. It is beautiful and grotesque. Why should anything grow? Why should life be allowed to persist so flagrantly? You hate the arrogance of this land. You want to see it burn._

_But you do not destroy it. Not yet. You are focused on your goal of killing Naga. Ylisse, the world, it can all go to cinders after. It won’t matter. It doesn’t matter._

_You are so tired._

_You seek out Naga’s temple, which sits atop a mountain at the far reaches of her territory. The land has changed so much in the last few centuries. Her people have built extravagantly upon it. Their cities, even their towns, are grand and sprawling affairs. You pass through the gleaming gem that is their capital with its high walls, its castle on a hill for Naga’s chosen blood. What having plentiful access to water can do, you think. Even during the best of times, your village…Ah, you must not think of that._

_Your journey takes weeks. You do not fly—it is still unbearable to remain in your true form. But you do not need to rest like a real person. You keep moving, clearing your mind of all but one purpose. You tell yourself that you itch to have Naga’s blood on your fangs again, that you want to feel her life expire between your jaws. Never mind that you have not landed a single serious bite in your past battles. Never mind that she tore your flank open the last time you fought._

_(Not that you truly think this time will be any different.)_

_But she is not there._

_The temple stands empty. Even her human attendants have gone. All that sits on top of the mountain is cold carved stone, literally godforsaken._

_This is a blow you were not prepared for. She is gone. She_ cannot _be gone. And yet the temple is vacant. Full of dead air. Naga has left or she is dead. Either way, she has abandoned you._

_Again, you have lost everyone in the world you have loved. Everyone who was capable of loving you._

_Black wings tear from your back and hurl you from the ground. Your body feels at war with itself as it grows, sharpens. Your teeth and talons elongating. Yes, this form is unbearable, but so is everything. Not for much longer._

_You have never flown so fast. It is meteoric and suffocating. Your journey of weeks is reduced to mere hours, and you have never felt more alive than you do in that flight. It is the worst feeling you can imagine. And you cannot stop thinking. The same thoughts, yes, but you cannot stop them._

_You want to stop._

_So you crash your body into a castle tower._

_Floating somewhere in the swamp of your mind is a vague idea of revenge. This is the heart of Naga’s country. A heart for a heart. It is an easy justice._

_But mostly you just want something to burn._

_The first jet of flame goes straight through the tower. Again, screams. The smell of burning flesh. Some troops rush to meet you and are incinerated. You cling to the tower, and they cannot reach you. Even the mages’ paltry spells are consumed in your fire._

_Ah. You’re doing it again. You’re going to destroy this place, aren’t you?_

_That had been the plan, but it is suddenly sounds so hollow to you that the fire goes cold in your throat. It doesn’t matter—the humans are retreating. You could chase them. You could destroy this whole city, give them nowhere to retreat to. But what would be the point of that? What was the point of any of this?_

_You hate humans. You hate them so much. But it was never about them._

_You turn your fire inward. If it is to consume everything, then let the flames start with you. You do not want this life, these memories. Let them burn away and become ashes. Such destruction is a mercy._

_Your body becomes molten, becomes light, the magic at the core of you thrumming. Your consciousness is wavering, about to go out. But it doesn’t hurt. That is all you wanted. Not death. Not even destruction, not really. You just want to stop hurting._

_You never want to be hurt again._

_Do you understand yet?_

_This was my gift to you. A painless life scrubbed clean of regret. A closed world, a limited sky. Castle walls to hold you, to keep you from burning a world that will inevitably deserve it. And enough of my hatred to remind you that nothing good comes from loving humans. It was self-preservation._

_But you have been a fool._

_Again, you have unfolded the tender parts of yourself, inviting in pain. All for the love of a single human. I thought you would know better. And yet._

_Is it worth it? When it ends, and it will end, one way or another, will it be worth it then?_

_(I speak from the other side of the end. I know the answer.)_

_I warned you._

_You will not remember, though._

It was early morning when Frederick woke, the light still gray, the air cool and quiet. He had always been fond of mornings—a sentiment not shared by many of the other Shepherds. Lissa in particular had despised waking early, had thought it should be a crime to wake a princess before sunup. But he found it a peaceful time, the day fresh with possibility.

Even this was possible, he thought, his gaze drifting to Robin. She was still sleeping, curled at his side. Carefully, he brushed the hair from her face.

It was a new experience, waking up next to someone. It was a common thing that people did. Nothing extraordinary. But he had never envisioned it for himself. He wanted to get used to this, Frederick realized. A lifetime of waking up next to Robin. The modest happiness of a shared life.

But for now, it was his first time. He wanted to savor it. To make the happiness of this small moment eternal, no matter how impossible that was.

Finally, when the room began to warm with the sun’s heat, he woke her.

“Robin,” he said, a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s morning.”

She stirred, her face scrunching slightly as if fighting consciousness. With effort, she opened her eyes. Seeing him, she smiled. Then her face froze with terror.

“How long was I asleep?” she asked.

“Just through the night,” he assured her.

“Oh. Good.” At once the softness returned to her face. She settled back against the mattress.

“How was it?” he asked.

“Last night?”

“…I meant sleeping.”

“Hmm. It was nice? It didn’t feel like anything.” Robin frowned, thinking. “I may have had a dream.”

“Oh? What about?”

She stared at him for a long time, as if trying to memorize his face. There was something sorrowful about her expression. And although she was right in front of him, there was something lonely in it, too. But then Robin smiled. She shook her head.

“I don’t remember.”


	17. Impasse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward, one step back.

“I don’t want to.”

“You did not want to sleep, and now you do not want to get up?”

Robin groaned and pressed herself into the bed, as if trying to burrow into it. Despite the warmth of the night, she had pulled the majority of the blanket over her. Her body looked small wrapped in those sheets.

“If humans meant for waking to be easy, they would not have made their beds so comfortable,” she said from her cocoon. She brushed the back of her hand over Frederick’s cheek. She grinned, flirtatious. “I don’t want to leave.”

It was an inviting thought. One that he entertained as he kissed her. It would be the easiest thing in the world to stay in bed, to actually do what they pretended they were here to do. Already, Robin had gone pliant against him, her hands on the back of his neck. But he had always been a firm believer in the virtues of delayed gratification.

He broke the kiss and pressed a thumb against her bottom lip. Her face was flushed, expectant. “I’m going to see if they are serving breakfast downstairs,” he said.

Robin bristled with frustration.

“Tease,” she huffed, pushing his hand away. “You did that on purpose.”

“We will have plenty of time later,” Frederick said lightly. “There is no need to rush things.”

Robin frowned at that, some shadow passing across her face. But only for a moment.

“Stay,” she asked. She smiled, summoning back some of her earlier playfulness. She was making a good effort.

“You could come downstairs with me.”

“Ugh.”

“Then I will be right back. I’ll bring you something.”

Frederick sat up and reached for his shirt, which he had folded neatly and placed on top of the trunk next to the bed. As he did so, Robin pressed her hand to the flat of his back. He stiffened reflexively—bad form for a knight to be caught from behind—then relaxed. It was just Robin.

“You have so many scars,” she said. He could not see her face, but her voice had grown solemn.

“It’s nothing you have not seen before,” he said.

“I know.”

Robin traced the edges of his scars. An arrow wound under his left shoulder. A burn from lighting magic that tore across his lower back. They were old, far past aching. Yet she touched them carefully, as if the skin may break beneath her fingertips. After years of training, of toughening himself, Frederick was still getting used to having his body handled with such care. It wasn’t so bad.

“I read that warriors are often proud of their scars,” Robin said quietly. “I have never understood that. Why should anyone be proud of getting hurt?”

“The pride comes from surviving,” Frederick said. “Not the injury itself.”

“I think it would be better to survive without getting hurt.”

“Well, yes. That would be ideal.”

But not likely, he thought. The strongest knights Frederick had known all had scars. He had taken such injuries for granted. They were a part of life, at least for those who had dedicated their lives to the kingdom. He had never questioned that before, neither the pain nor grim acceptance of it.

There were many things he had not questioned.

“They really don’t go away?” Robin asked. Unlike his, her body carried no scars. He had seen how cleanly her wounds healed, how her skin seemed to bear no memory of pain.

“They may fade a bit in time,” Frederick said. “But I will likely always have them.”

“Oh.”

Robin suddenly pressed her head against his shoulder, her arms snaking around his waist. Frederick felt his breath catch. He was acutely aware of the heat of her bare skin against his. Perhaps he would let her seduce him after all, he thought as her hand moved upward. But then she stopped, her fingers lingering on another scar over his ribs. This one was new—only a few months old.

“I never apologized for giving you these, did I?” she said.

“Is that what this is?” he asked, leaning into her embrace. “If so, it is a nice apology.”

He had only meant to tease her a bit. He thought it may lighten the mood. After all, were they not past apologies at this point? It seemed strange that she should apologize when he had intended to kill her, even if his attempt had been an abject failure. The forces that had set them against each other in the first place were larger than the two of them. How could they apologize for circumstances they had so little control over?

So he did not expect her to go quiet, to pull away from him.

“Robin?” Frederick asked, turning to look at her. She was still undressed, the blanket half-draped over her shoulders, her hair sleep-tousled. And she was frowning again. “Are you alright?”

“I…I don’t know.” Something fragile had entered her expression. She pulled the blanket tight around her, her fingers nervous. At the last moment, she managed to smile. Just barely. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Never before had Frederick felt such a mix of joy and dismay. Joy because she had said it. She loved him. She had said it. He had hoped as much.

Dismay because she looked so afraid.

Had they gone too quickly? Perhaps they had been swept up by the beauty and improbability of Tiki and Say’ri’s relationship. The knowledge that such loves were possible had felt profound. Necessary in ways he had not realized _because_ he had not realized. And they had wanted that. They wanted each other.

But wanting someone was not a one-time decision. It had to be made again and again, every day, and with fresh conviction. Last night Robin had been so certain, so ready to try. He had been certain as well.

He still was.

“I feel the same,” Frederick finally said. “Is that not a good thing?”

“I don’t know,” Robin said again. “I think it is. It is. But I…I have never placed so much hope in something before. It is frightening. Confusing.”

Frederick did not say anything. What could he say? He understood her apprehensions and shared them to a degree. He had known any relationship between them would be complicated. Perhaps love could sustain them, but it did not simplify anything. Still, he had not meant to confuse her. He had not meant for these feelings to cause her pain.

He wanted her to choose him regardless.

“How much longer,” she asked, “do we wait for Gaius to return?”

“Two more days.” Hardly any time at all.

“And what will you do if he does not return?”

“I will continue my search,” he answered immediately. “I will search, whether he comes back or not.”

Frederick did not miss how her jaw tightened, how doubt troubled her brow. She was retreating from him, even as she said she loved him. It stung, and here it was again—the ice. Both of them standing on it now, waiting for the other to move away. Waiting for the ice to crack.

It was as if they had never left the castle.

No. That was neither true nor charitable. They had come so far since then, and so much had changed between them. He could not discount that, even if it would be easier to. He could not allow himself to be discouraged. They both deserved patience. Frederick took a deep breath.

“I would still like you to come with me, Robin,” he continued. “Will you?”

The look she gave him was desperate.

“I…I want to stay with you. But…” She paused, blinking quickly. “You said we could return to the castle after this.”

Yes, he had said that. But he had hoped they would not have to. He had optimistically thought that if she could just leave, if she could see the world outside those walls, she would not want to return. What was there for her but corpses and books she had already read? How could that place have such a hold over her?

“You want to go back?” Frederick asked.

“Don’t you?”

Her answer confused him. The castle had meant something to him once, but it was empty. Then he realized that she was not talking about the castle.

Oh.

Robin sighed, a flutter in her breath.

“I need to at least see it,” she said. “I’ll be able to decide after that.”

“Then we shall go back,” he said stoically. His answer seemed to put Robin at ease. The tightness left her body somewhat. But she looked exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her second apology of the morning. “I know it should not matter. It should not be this difficult.”

Frederick shook his head.

“If it matters to you, then it matters,” he said. He could do this for her, couldn’t he? He could try to understand. Try to make it work. But she was right.

It was difficult.

They tried to put that morning behind them and were mostly successful. But some of the tension remained. They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t have to.

It wasn’t that Robin was distant. On the contrary, she clung to him even more than usual. They must have looked like a proper couple, Frederick thought, with her hanging off his arm like that. But there was something regretful in her touch, a desperation that unsettled him. He did not want her to touch him like she might not get another chance. He did not want to think that they were running out of time.

But they were.

Gaius did not come that day.

Frederick was growing desperate, too.

“We should slow down,” he said that night when Robin kissed him. “I would like to slow down.”

She had crawled into bed with him again, had reached out to him again. At first, she seemed confused when he pulled away from her. Then she smiled, as if resigning herself to something. Robin smoothed a hand over his cheek, then laid down on her side of the bed. She could fall asleep faster than anyone he’d ever met—instantaneous and effortless. He lay awake, staring up into the rafters. He could not sleep.

It was a surprisingly lonely feeling. Robin was right next to him, yet she was worlds away. Beyond his reach. Was this how she had felt all those nights sitting awake while he slept? How odd it must have seemed to her that humans, who had short lives to begin with, should spend a third of it sleeping. Little wonder why she seemed intent on taking things fast. Even if he lived a long life, he did not have much time to give her.

Well now. Living a long life? That was a new thought.

Frederick had not planned on dying young. But he had not thought of growing old, either. Some knights lived to a ripe age, but that was not something one could count on. His entire life, he had trained to face the prospect of death with stoicism. He had learned that it meant something to die well. That, where possible, he should survive in order to continue his service. What of _living_ , though? The knights had focused less on that.

But could he still call himself a knight? Truly? He had been deemed a traitor to his country, separated from his liege, and was now in bed with an enemy of the crown. He still loved Chrom and Lissa, but perhaps not as a knight. Who would call him a knight now? Who in Ylisse would recognize him as such?

Part of Frederick mourned this realization. Another part, a newer part, was less troubled. It was a loss, yes, but not of everything. He could let that part of himself go if it meant embracing other things.

Robin shifted in her sleep, turning toward him. Her hand brushed his shoulder. She seemed to instinctively reach for warmth. He could live a long life for her, Frederick thought, putting his hand over hers. In that sense, she had been wrong about him. He did not want to go back.

He had to believe that, ultimately, she would not want to, either.

Frederick awoke a few hours later to chittering. A hand shaking him awake.

“He’s here,” Robin said.

“What?”

She had lit a lamp, but it was still dark out. Not yet sunrise. A shadow was darting back and forth up in the rafters. The rat, he thought blearily.

“He’s here,” Robin repeated. “I had him wait outside.”

It took his brain another second to grasp her meaning. When he did, he shot up out of bed, nearly knocking his head against Robin’s as he hurried to the door.

Gaius was leaning against the wall looking decidedly unhurried. He smirked when he saw Frederick, who was decent, thank goodness, but frazzled. He had never allowed the other Shepherds to see him with bedhead.

“You’re late,” Frederick said, his voice a harsh whisper.

“I’m here,” Gaius countered, stepping quickly into the room. “I don’t think I was followed,” he said once the door was safely shut behind him. “But sheesh, Themis’s security is no joke. It was easier to sneak into the palace.”

“You snuck into the palace?” Robin asked.

“Not recently.”

“But did you find her?” Frederick asked. “Were you successful?”

“Yes, yes. No need to wake the neighbors.” He removed a letter from his coat and handed it to Frederick. It bore Maribelle’s seal. “She told me to ask you to excuse her handwriting. It was a rushed job.”

“How was she?” Frederick asked, breaking the seal.

“Feisty as ever,” Gaius said. “She’s under house arrest, but still scolded me for breaking into a lady’s room.”

That sounded like Maribelle, alright. It was a relief to hear that her usual strength had not been ground down. With that small reassurance, he opened her letter.

_Dear Frederick,_

_It is you, is it not? Gaius assured me, and the letter looked to be in your hand, but oh, it is hard to know what to believe! I heard my father sentenced you to slay that dragon, and I thought you dead! I cannot imagine what you must have gone through, nor how I can begin to apologize for what my father has done._

_Excuse me, I do not mean to ramble. One forgets how to write letters when there is no one to write to. I will attempt to be brief. To answer your question, no, I have not heard of Chrom and Lissa’s whereabouts. I like to think of this as a good thing. If I knew, then certainly the Council would know as well. I can only hope that hearing nothing means that they are alive and well somewhere. ~~I wish~~_

_There is one thing, however. A rumor the maids shared with me. They have proven to be reliable sources of information before, which I mention only because what I am about to write seems so incredible._

_The rumor is that a masked warrior going by the name ‘Marth’ has become champion to the West-Kahn of Regna Ferox._

_It is incredible, is it not? It is more folktale than common gossip. ~~But if it is true, then perhaps~~ The Council must know of this rumor, but as far as I can tell there are no plans to act on it. Relations with Ferox are not what they used to be, and the Council would be humiliated if such a fantastic rumor turned out to be false. Anyhow, the north does not concern them. All eyes are on the west._

_Ylisse is changing so quickly, Frederick. Even from my limited viewpoint, it is fascinating and terrifying to behold. I shall never forgive my father and the Council for what they did, but I do believe they are right to be wary of Valm. Their decision to court Plegia is, I think, dubious, but the fact that diplomatic relations have advanced as quickly as they have…well, such a thing would have been unimaginable a year ago. It is a delicate time._

_I hope you find them. I hope you keep them safe. You should know that the Council is not completely unified now that they have deposed their common enemy, and even that was achieved with differing motivations. The Council may break under its own weight someday. But I do not see it happening now, not so long as Valm remains a bigger threat than they are to each other._

_Please do not worry about me. I am hardly languishing in some lonesome dungeon. I am making do, as I always have. ~~I am biding my time until~~_

_There is so much I would like to tell you, but I fear I have written too much already. I have enclosed another letter in this envelope. If perchance you do find them, please deliver it to Lissa. I hope it is not too much to ask that you do not read it._

_Thank you, Frederick. I wish you the safest of journeys. And I am so, so sorry for the pain my house has caused you. I wish things had turned out differently. I truly do._

_With love,_

_Maribelle_

Frederick looked up from the letter, only to find Robin and Gauis staring at him—Robin with concern, Gauis with impatience. Ah, of course. His payment.

“Robin, would you please…”

He was unable to finish his sentence. His hands were shaking slightly. It was the shock of the letter. The lack of sleep. He felt disoriented. Thankfully, Robin had understood his muttered words. She gathered the remaining pouches of sugar and handed them to Gaius.

“Well, this has been a real trip down memory lane,” he said once he had been paid. “But I’m going to make myself scarce. Leave town for a while, just to play it safe.”

“Yes, that seems wise,” Frederick said.

“It is. I can’t recommend it enough. Skipping town, I mean.”

“Thank you, Gaius.”

Gaius nodded. But he lingered a bit longer, a thought turning in his mind.

“I hope you find them,” he finally said. “But be careful, alright?”

“I am always careful.”

“Not when it comes to this.”

He could have laughed. First Maribelle’s letter, and now even Gaius was warning him off reckless behavior. Did he appear so desperate to them? Had his reputation as “Frederick the Wary” meant so little?

Though to be fair, he had tried to fight a dragon.

“I appreciate your concern, but I do not mean to ride into the jaws of death,” he said.

“Good to hear,” Gaius said, a hint of fondness behind his wry smile.

“Are you alright?” Robin asked after Gaius had left.

“You’re worried about me, too?”

“Well, are you?”

Frederick sat down, the letter still in his hands.

“I am,” he said.

Regna Ferox. A masked warrior going by the name of “Marth,” the hero king of Ylisse. It was a brazen disguise, so obvious it was almost tacky. To fight for a Khan, to take that name, it was to raise oneself up like a beacon to the world.

_“I am here. Come find me.”_

North. Chrom was waiting for him in the north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter last chapter let's gooooooooooo!!!!


	18. Over the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end

They checked out of the inn that morning. They collected their horse and wagon from the stable. By noon they were on the west road, Ylisstol at their backs.

It was a dour journey without much in the way of conversation. Frederick’s mind kept straying to Maribelle’s letter. There was a chance that Chrom and Lissa had escaped to Ferox. If Chrom was the masked champion “Marth,” then did that mean he was under the West Khan’s protection? If so, then the Khan must surely know his true identity, shouldn’t he? Why risk harboring Ylisse’s deposed prince and princess? What was there to gain?

There were too many “ifs” involved. He should not assume. He would not know whether there was any truth to these rumors until he confirmed them himself. But the way to the castle was slightly southwest, and Frederick was painfully aware that every second took him a little farther from Ferox.

Robin, he assumed, was kept busy by her own thoughts. Or dread. She did not need to wear a blanket over her head this time. She had, however, inexplicably brought the risen rat with her. It sat on her lap, small and unbreathing. She stroked its head distractedly, her eyes on the road ahead. He had thought she would be relieved to be returning to the castle, but her silence was apprehensive.

They made camp earlier than Frederick would have liked. But the days were starting to grow shorter, and it looked like it might rain. He strung a tarp between a couple of birch trees while Robin watched the roiling sky.

The rain came, light at first, but steady. The tarp provided shelter, but it was not much for comfort. He and Robin sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the mare shake water from her flanks. The night spread around them. Supper was brief—some bread and jerky from Ylisstol. No fire tonight, Frederick thought. Thankfully, Robin _was_ a fire. So long as she did not burn him, she kept the night chill off. It was comfortable under the tarp despite the damp. Almost cozy.

He could have done without the rat sitting by his knee, however.

“I did not expect you to keep a pet,” he said.

“I am not. Or…hmm.” She glanced down at the rat, which turned its cloudy eyes up at her. “I did not think of it like that. I have never understood why humans keep animals they neither eat nor make work.”

“For companionship, I should think. Chrom kept dogs as a boy.”

“Is that what this is then?”

“Well, most pets are not dead.”

“You disapprove,” Robin said bluntly.

“Of pets?”

“Of raising the dead.” It was dark, and her face was shadowed. But there was an unmistakable edge to her words. “‘A mockery of life,’ I believe you called it.”

Ah, so she had remembered that.

“Perhaps that was a bit…heated,” Frederick admitted. “But I do find the art unnerving.”

The sound of rain against the tarp filled the silence between them.

“Tiki thought the same thing,” Robin finally said. With her magic, she could raise the dead too, if she wanted to. I thought that, as another dragon, she might understand.”

But she had not.

“Why did you create the risen?” Frederick asked. “You hardly need the security.”

“Habit,” Robin said. “It felt…familiar to do so. I do not remember much, but I have always known how to do this. It is something I _can_ do. And…” She lowered her hand to the rat, which crawled obediently onto her palm. “It was comforting, in a way, to not be the only thing in the castle that moved.”

The rat suddenly stood on its hind legs and began to turn circles in her hand. Its movements were unnaturally precise.

“But they only moved if I willed them to,” she continued. “It was safe that way. They could not hurt me, as they had tried to when they were alive. I could not control the living. But I could control _them_.”

The rat froze in place, its paws dangling in the air. It was a pathetic thing, a scrap of dark fur. Fine whiskers and locked muscle.

“But that is not what you meant by companionship, is it?” she asked.

“No.”

“I did not think so.”

“You were lonely.”

Robin took a deep breath. She set the rat down, its muscles loosening again.

“I was the only way I knew how to be,” she said.

“And now?” he asked, his fingers brushing against hers. She put her hand over his and let her head fall against his shoulder.

“Now you’ve made things very difficult,” she said, half in jest. “Your hands are cold.”

“I wish I had met you sooner,” Frederick said, startling himself. He had not meant to say that. But it was true, if embarrassingly sentimental. Robin took her time in answering.

“It is better that you didn’t,” she said. “I would have killed you. I might have…”

She might have turned him. It was a chilling thought. Being killed was one thing, but this was different. This was…

“Is it really so unnerving?” Robin asked, sensing his discomfort. “Those bodies were already dead. And I did not raise them in malice.”

“That is not…” Frederick struggled to find the right words. How to explain what seemed to him so intuitive, so foundational to the world he had lived in? “It is not about malice. It is…a matter of closure.”

“Closure?”

“Yes,” he ventured. That felt right, or at least close to it. “The dead cannot return to life, not even with your powers. Once someone dies, they become unreachable. What made them themselves is lost. For those who live on, that is a hard truth. So to see someone’s body walk without them in it is…”

Again, he found himself grasping for language. What had he felt the first time he had seen a risen? Those undead soldiers, whose faces he might have recognized. Who he might have become had things turned out a little differently.

“Cruel,” Frederick decided. “It feels cruel. It makes one hope that death is not real after all. But it is.”

“And you can accept that?” Robin asked. Her voice had grown small. Had she not been leaning against his shoulder it would have been lost under the rain.

“I did say it was hard.”

“I am not sure I could,” she said. “I don’t want to lose anything more.”

The rain was getting harder. Perhaps it would not stop tonight.

“When I die,” Frederick began.

“Don’t,” she begged.

“Tiki said that she did not want the fear of loss to keep her from the joy of having.”

“I am not as strong as her. I never have been.” Robin squeezed his hand. “I am sorry. I cannot mourn you yet.”

He put it aside. Someday they would be unable to defer the issue. But not today. He lay down, the ground damp beneath his bedroll. Though he did not think it necessary on a night like this, Robin kept watch, and he fell asleep to her hand stroking his hair.

He slept deeply but woke tired anyhow. It was morning, but dark, the hour indeterminate under a cloudy sky and thin fog. The rain, at least, had stopped. Frederick sat up, his back stiff from yesterday’s ride and a night on the ground.

Robin was gone.

He quieted the fear that lanced through his gut. She would not run away. She would not do that to him, no matter how anxious she was. He took a steadying breath, then exited the tarp.

Robin was there. She was walking toward the tarp, her hands covered with mud. There was something changed in her manner. A resoluteness, perhaps. An almost-peace.

She was very beautiful.

“Morning,” Frederick said as she drew near the tarp.

“It is,” she replied, kneeling to wipe her hands on the wet grass.

The rat was nowhere to be seen.

They were a week returning to the castle, the trip made longer by the muddy roads. The autumn rains had arrived full swell, rolling over them in cold bands. There was barely enough time to dry off between downpours. Still, they did not seek shelter. They pressed on through the miserable weather, neither of them eager to reach their destination, but not willing to delay it, either.

Frederick did not look at Robin’s face when they pulled into the castle courtyard. It was cowardice. He kept his eyes forward and busied himself with unbridling the mare. Robin said nothing. But she sat in the wagon long after it was unloaded.

The castle was the same as they had left it, if a little colder. And quiet, after their time in a living city. He had grown used to living there, but to see the castle again was to see it for its desolation. Its molding carpets, its dusty corners. Even the stones seemed wilted. It was good to be out of the rain, at least. To put on dry clothes again.

But Robin was…well. “Distant” was too strong of a word. In Ylisstol, they had only a room to share between them. The castle had many rooms, which meant they did not always have to be in the same one. It was not a bad thing to have space to think things over. But Robin stole away for hours at a time.

She buried the risen. She did not tell him she would, though he noticed the day after their return that the castle was even emptier than usual. Frederick discovered her by chance behind the castle, close to where the gardens had been. The risen had congregated there, dozens of them, still as terrible statues. Robin was standing in a hole, her talons making easy work of the earth. When she had dug the hole both deep and wide, she climbed out and one of the risen stepped forward. It shuffled into the hole, then lay itself down.

The burial was both peaceful and garish. No rites were performed, but after all these years, these dead soldiers would finally have their bed of earth. Frederick watched over the next few hours as she lay the rest of risen in their graves. He did not approach. Perhaps she knew she was there, but if she did, she did not acknowledge him, either.

He missed her. He tried not to think of it as missing her. That implied that she was no longer with him. She was.

She had not chosen yet.

Frederick took his time. He read up on Ferox and studied maps. The library’s books were dated, but the northern border had not changed much in twenty years. Or in a hundred years. Feroxi borders were famously impenetrable, with their high walls and disciplined guard. And at this time of year, the country would be weathering its first blizzards. Even if one slipped past the border, one was liable to freeze before reaching the nearest town.

He did not think he could do it alone.

He did not think he could bring himself to try.

It was evening, a few days after they had returned to the castle, and again Robin was nowhere to be found. He had not seen her since that morning, and after nearly an hour of searching, Frederick was running out of places to look. Not even Lissa had so thoroughly evaded him when she had tried to get out of her morning lessons. Had he simply passed her by? He circled back to the library, but no, she was not there. Then where…

Oh. The burned tower. That was where she had hidden when he had left to buy the horse, and it was the only place he had not checked. Of course he had not looked there. Frederick had not been to the tower even once since coming here.

He knew that was foolish. Except for the damage it had sustained in the dragon’s attack, there was nothing special about the tower. Yet he had avoided it almost subconsciously, never allowing his eyes or mind to linger on it for too long. He had accepted Robin, had processed his feelings over what had happened twenty years ago. But the tower was an ugly reminder of what this place really was. Not a castle or a home any longer. A grave.

Robin was sitting at the top, her legs dangling over the side of the tower. The view was brilliant, the sun setting in a shock of golden haze. She was holding her left hand out to the light, as if to reach for it. Or to block it out.

He sat next to her, though not so close to the edge. The rains had finally passed, and though temporary, the mild weather was welcome. The trees had begun to redden, and stirred by the wind, their leaves looked ablaze in the late light. They sat in companionable silence. When the sun dipped below the trees, Robin finally let her hand fall into her lap.

“I thought you said you hated the sky,” he finally said.

“Did I?” she mused. “It is overwhelming and terrifying to be in. But I do not hate it. How could I? Just look at it.”

He did. It was beautiful. Overwhelmingly, terrifyingly beautiful.

“The world is so big,” Robin said. “We travelled to Ylisstol, but I cannot even see it from here.”

“Does a large world frighten you?” Frederick asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I thought that if I went with you, I would no longer be afraid. But I am. I think I always will be.”

“You are decided, then?”

“No.”

Frederick nodded, an ill feeling rising in his gut. Perhaps she hadn’t decided. But he had.

“I said I would stay with you,” he began.

“But not here.”

He took a deep breath.

“Here, if you require it.”

Frederick had thought about it all day, and he could not leave Robin to chase a rumor. Alone, he was unlikely to survive the trip to Ferox, and if the rumor were false, his death would be for nothing. If it were true, then Chrom and Lissa were already under the West Khan’s protection. They would be relatively safe there while the Council turned its attention toward Valm and Plegia. And they at least had each other. But if he left Robin, she would have no one.

He could do this. If he would be pulled in two directions no matter which he chose, then he would choose her.

So why did Robin look so horrified?

“No.”

“No?”

Her rejection stung him. Didn’t she want him to stay with her? It had taken all of his strength to come to that decision. How could she dismiss it so quickly?

“You would not let me stay?” he asked, heat rising in his throat. “All of this, and you would have me go?

“You would hate to stay here,” Robin said. “You would be miserable.”

“And what would you be, were I to leave?”

“I…” Regret flashed across her face. “That is different.”

“I fail to see how.”

Robin shook her head. She glanced at him, then back toward the horizon. He felt his frustrations ebb. It would accomplish nothing to lose his temper now. Both of them were desperate.

“You said that he is your heart,” she finally said. “You cannot give that up.”

Her words punctured him, making solid the shape of his loss. But also, what he had yet to lose. 

“You are part of my heart as well,” he said. “I could not give you up, either.”

Her jaw tightened. She shut her eyes.

“I love you, Robin. No matter what you choose, I will love you still.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I cannot do that to you. But thank you.”

The light was quickly draining from the sky.

“It is getting cold,” Robin said. It wasn’t yet. “I will have an answer for you soon. I just…need a little more time.”

Frederick nodded and stood. He recognized a dismissal when he heard one. But he lingered awhile, watching Robin’s back. There was ancient strength in her body. He knew he had seen but a fraction of it. And yet, for all that strength, she was small beneath the vast sky. At its mercy.

The nights had grown cold. Frederick had pulled a second blanket for his bed, and still he could not get warm. When the castle had been peopled, it had been heated by its many fireplaces, which were kept burning through the night. But he could not bring himself to light those fireplaces. He knew it was not sensible. If he were still here when winter came, he would have little choice but to light them. Still, he could not do it. He endured the chill.

Frederick woke in the middle of the night to a familiar warmth and weight at his side. Robin had crawled into bed and lay curled up next to him. She had not come to him since Ylisstol.

She stirred when he touched her arm, awake still. Her hands were warm against his face as she kissed him, as she crawled on top of him. It was a joy to hold her again, for her to finally touch him without the past week’s hesitation.

No, he thought as she kissed the spot above his heart. He could not give this up.

“It never protected me,” Robin said afterward. Frederick had been drowsing in the heat of her arms. Now, he was fully awake. He had not expected to have this conversation until morning.

“It was supposed to protect me,” she continued. “But people came to kill me anyhow. I was still stabbed. I killed people. And I still thought that being here would protect me.” Robin paused, that moment of silence bearing the weight of decades. “But it didn’t.”

“You can leave,” Frederick said quietly.

“I know.” He felt her bury her face against his back, her arms tightening around his waist. “Ask me again.”

This was it, Frederick thought. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing the back of her fingers.

“Robin,” he said, his voice thick in his throat. “Will you come away with me?”

“Yes,” she said, then broke down sobbing.

It was a clear morning, the sky swept with high, thin clouds. Frederick stood in the castle courtyard, the light buttery on the stones. He was looking up, shading his eyes and squinting into the sun as it peaked over the burnt tower. Waiting.

Then Robin appeared, the light at her back. She waved at him from the edge of the tower, her movements quick with nerves or excitement or both. He raised his hand in encouragement. She remained at the edge a while longer, coat pulled tight around her, her face lost in the brightness. Then she let the coat fall from her bare shoulders.

Her silhouette appeared to blur, then there was a flurry of feathers. Of wings and talons digging into stone. She sat perched atop the tower, graceful and dangerous, dark scales gleaming. Six eyes stared down at him. Then she raised her face to the dread sky.

Frederick watched as she sprang from the tower with such force that he thought the stones would crumble. How frightening, how glorious it was to plunge into the cold air, her wings beating hard, her heart beating harder. She seemed to hang there moment, about to plummet out of the sky, the effort of flight too absurd, too impossible to realize.

Then she rose, and it seemed impossible for it to be otherwise.

They packed little. Warm clothes, some food, and two painstakingly chosen books. There was not much else they wished to take with them, or that they could not find elsewhere.

The mare was turned loose. She had carried them a long way, but she was old. The journey would be too rough on her. And there were other ways to get where they were going.

“Are you ready?”

He placed a hand on her feathered neck.

“I should be asking you that.”

Her laugh rumbled through him, low and warm.

“I will never be more ready than I am now.”

They set off, the castle dark behind them. Ahead of them, daylight. An ever expanding sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To quote Phantom of the Opera, "IT'S OVER NOW, THE MUSIC! OF! THE! NIGHT!"
> 
> Speaking of which, I did...make a playlist for this fic. If you're interested in my complete lack of taste in music, it's here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/60KZCC6jMENZ9d3x4xMBZw?si=GEy6p1aHReatCDXnC10fSQ


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